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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
•The^^o •
THE
RAILWAY CHILDREN
"\
BY
E. NESBIT
AUTHOR OF “THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET,” ETC.
(RtaJY
t/
Nefo gork
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1905
All rights reserved
Tz t
. B <3 !~lVoL.-
LIBRARY Of CONGRESS
Two Copies Received
NOV 20 1905
Copyright Entry
/ Urzs. Jia / q o £*
CLASS CL XXc, No.
/ 3 / w 7
COPY A.
Copyright, 1905,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published
i9°5.
• e
• • •
Norbjoah $rts3
J. S. Cushing & Co.-— Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
c
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
The Beginning ....
.
TAGE
1
II.
Peter’s Coal Mine .
23
III.
The Old Gentleman
50
IV.
The Engine Burglar
73
V.
Prisoners and Captives.
99
VI.
Saviours of the Train .
118
VII.
For Valour ....
138
VIII.
The Amateur Firemen .
161
IX.
The Pride of Perks
182
X.
The Terrible Secret
204
XI.
The Hound in the Red Jersey
224
XII.
What Bobbie brought Home
249
XIII.
The Hound’s Grandfather .
268
XIV.
The End
291
'
4
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
CHAPTER I
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
They were not Tailway children to begin with.
I don’t suppose they had ever thought about rail-
ways except as means of getting to Maskelyne
and Cooke’s, the Pantomime, Zoological Gardens,
and Madame Tussaud’s. They were just ordinary
suburban children, and they lived with their Father
and Mother in an ordinary red-brick-fronted villa,
with coloured glass in the front door, a tiled pas-
sage that was called a hall, a bath-room with hot
and cold water, electric bells, French windows,
and a good deal of white paint, and “ every mod-
ern convenience,” as the house-agents say.
There were three of them. Roberta was the
eldest. Of course, Mothers never have favourites,
but if their Mother had had a favourite, it might
have been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wished
to be an Engineer when he grew up ; and the
youngest was Phyllis, who meant extremely well.
1
2
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Mother did not spend all her time in paying
dull calls to dull ladies, and sitting dully at home
waiting for dull ladies to pay calls to her. She
was almost always there, ready to play with the
children, and read to them, and help them to do
their home-lessons. Besides this she used to write
stories for them while they were at school, and
read them aloud after tea, and she always made
up funny pieces of poetry for their birthdays and
for other great occasions, such as the christening
of the new kittens, or the refurnishing of the doll’s
house, or the time when they were getting over
the mumps.
These three lucky children always had every-
thing they needed : pretty clothes, good fires, a
lovely nursery with heaps of toys, and a Mother
Goose wall-paper. They had a kind and merry
nurse-maid, and a dog who was called James, and
who was their very very own. They also had
a Father who was just perfect — never cross, never
unjust, and always ready for a game — at least
if at any time he was not ready, he always had an
excellent reason for it, and explained the reason
to the children so interestingly and funnily that
they felt sure he couldn’t help himself.
You will think that they ought to have been
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
3
very happy. And so they were, but they did not
know how happy till the pretty life in the Red
Villa was over and done with, and they had to
live a very different life indeed.
The dreadful change came quite suddenly.
Peter had a birthday — his tenth. Among his
other presents was a model engine more perfect
than you could ever have dreamed of. The other
presents were full of charm, but the Engine was
fuller of charm than any of the others were.
Its charm lasted in its full perfection for ex-
actly three days. Then, owing either to Peter’s
inexperience or Phyllis’s good intentions, which
had been rather pressing, or to some other cause,
the Engine suddenly went off with a bang. James
was so frightened that he went out and did not
come back all day. All the Noah’s Ark people
who were in the tender were broken to bits, but
nothing else was hurt except the poor little engine
and the feelings of Peter. The others said he cried
over it, — but of course, boys of ten do not cry,
however terrible the tragedies may be which
darken their lot. He said that his eyes were red
because he had a cold. This turned out to be
true, though Peter did not know it was when
he said it, and next day he had to go to bed and
4
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
stay there. Mother began to be afraid that he
might be sickening for measles, when suddenly
he sat up in bed and said : —
“ I hate gruel — I hate barley water — I hate
bread and milk. I want to get up and have
something real to eat.”
“ What would you like ? ” Mother asked.
“ A pigeon-pie,” said Peter, eagerly, “ a large
pigeon-pie. A very large one.”
So Mother asked the Cook to make a large
pigeon-pie. The pie was made. And when the
pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was
cooked, Peter ate some of it. After that his
cold was better. Mother made a piece of poetry
to amuse him while the pie was being made. It
began by saying what an unfortunate but worthy
boy Peter was, and then it went on : —
He had an engine that he loved
With all his heart and sonl,
And if he had a wish on earth
It was to keep it whole.
One day — my friends, prepare your minds ;
Pm coming to the worst —
Quite suddenly a screw went mad,
And then the boiler burst !
With gloomy face he packed it up
And took it to his Mother,
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
5
Though even he could not suppose
That she could make another ;
For those who perished on the line
He did not seem to care,
His engine being more to him
Than all the people there.
And now you see the reason why
Our Peter has been ill :
He soothes his soul with pigeon-pie
His gnawing grief to kill.
He wraps himself in blankets warm
And sleeps in bed till late,
Determined thus to overcome
His miserable fate.
And if his eyes are rather red,
His cold must just excuse it :
Offer him pie ; you may be sure
He never will refuse it.
Father had been away in the country for three
or four days. All Peter’s hopes for the curing of
his afflicted Engine were now fixed on his Father,
for Father was most wonderfully clever with his
fingers. He could mend all sorts of things. He
had often acted as veterinary surgeon to the
wooden rocking-horse ; once he had saved its life
when all human aid was despaired of, and the
poor creature was given up for lost, and even
the carpenter said he didn’t see his way to do
6
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
anything. And it was Father who mended the
doll’s cradle when no one else could ; and with a
little glue and some bits of wood and a penknife
made all the Noah’s Ark beasts as strong on their
pins as ever they were, if not stronger.
Peter with heroic unselfishness did not say any-
thing about his Engine till after Father had had
his dinner and his after-dinner cigar. The un-
selfishness was Mother’s idea — but it was Peter
who carried it out. And it needed a good deal
of patience, too.
At last Mother said to Father, “Now, dear, if
you’re quite rested, and quite comfy, we want to
tell you about the great railway accident, and ask
your advice.”
“ All right,” said Father, “ fire away ! ”
So then Peter told the sad tale, and fetched
what was left of the Engine.
“ Hum,” said Father, when he had looked the
Engine over very carefully.
The children held their breaths.
“ Is there no hope ? ” said Peter, in a low, un-
steady voice.
“Hope? Rather! Tons of it,” said Father,
cheerfully; “ but it’ll want something besides hope,
— a bit of brazing, say, or some solder, and a new
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
7
valve. I think we’d better keep it for a rainy
day. In other words, I’ll give up Saturday after-
noon to it, and you shall all help me.”
“ Can girls help to mend engines ? ” Peter asked
doubtfully.
“ Of course they can. Girls are just as clever
as boys, and don’t you forget it ! How would you
like to be an engine-driver, Phil ? ”
“ My face would be always dirty, wouldn’t it ? ”
said Phyllis, in unenthusiastic tones, “and I. expect
I should break something.”
“ I should just love it,” said Roberta, — “ do you
think I could when I’m grown up, Daddy ? Or
even a stoker ? ”
“ You mean a fireman,” said Daddy, pulling and
twisting at the Engine. “ Well, if you still wish it,
when you’re grown up, we’ll see about making
you a fire-woman. I remember when I was a
boy — ”
Just then there was a knock at the front
door.
“ Who on earth ! ” said Father. “ An English-
man’s house is his castle, of course, but I do wish
they built semi-detached villas with moats and
drawbridges.”
Ruth — she was the parlour-maid and had red
8
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
hair — came in and said that two gentlemen
wanted to see the master.
“Pve shewn them into the Library, Sir,” said
she.
“ I expect it’s the subscription to the Vicar’s
testimonial,” said Mother, “ or else it’s the choir-
holiday-fund. Get rid of him quickly, dear. It
does break up an evening so, and it’s nearly the
children’s bed-time.”
But Father did not seem to be able to get rid of
the gentlemen at all quickly.
“ I wish we had got a moat and drawbridge,”
said Roberta ; “ then when we didn’t want people,
we could just pull up the drawbridge and no one
could get in. I expect Father will have forgotten
about when he was a boy if they stay much
longer.”
Mother tried to make the time pass by telling
them a new fairy story about a Princess with
green eyes, but it was difficult because they could
hear the voices of Father and the gentlemen in the
Library, and Father’s voice sounded louder and dif-
ferent to the voice he generally used to people who
came about testimonials and holiday funds.
Then the Library bell rang, and every one heaved
a breath of relief.
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
9
“They’re going now,” said Phyllis; “he’s rung
to have them shewn out.”
But instead of shewing anybody out, Ruth
shewed herself in, and she looked queer, the chil-
dren thought.
“ Please’m,” she said, “the Master wants you to
just step into the study. He looks like the dead,
mum ; I think he’s had bad news. You’d best
prepare yourself for the worst, ’m — p’raps it’s a
death in the family or a bank busted or — ”
“ That’ll do, Ruth,” said Mother, gently ; “ you
can go.”
Then Mother went into the Library. There was
more talking. Then the bell rang again, and Ruth
fetched a cab. The children heard boots go out
and down the steps. The cab drove away, and the
front door shut. Then Mother came in. Her dear
face was as white as her lace collar, and her eyes
looked very big and shining. Her mouth looked
like just a line of pale red — her lips were thin and
not their proper shape at all.
“ It’s bed-time,” she said. “ Ruth will put you
to bed.”
“ But you promised we should sit up late to-night
because Father’s come home,” said Phyllis.
“ Father’s been called away — on business,” said
Mother. “ Come, darlings, go at once.”
10
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
They kissed her and went. Roberta lingered to
give Mother an extra hug and to whisper —
“ It wasn’t bad news, Mammy, was it ? Is any
one dead — or — ”
“ Nobody’s dead — no,” said Mother, and she
almost seemed to push Roberta away. “ I can’t
tell you anything to-night, my pet. Go, dear, go
now.”
So Roberta went.
Ruth brushed the girls' hair and helped them to
undress. (Mother almost always did this herself.)
When she had turned down the gas and left them
she found Peter, still dressed, waiting on the
stairs.
“ I say, Ruth, what’s up ? ” he asked.
“ Don’t ask me no questions and I won’t tell
you no lies,” the red-headed Ruth replied. “ You’ll
know soon enough.”
Late that night Mother came up and kissed all
three children as they lay asleep. But Roberta
was the only one whom the kiss woke, and she lay
mousey-still, and said nothing.
“ If Mother doesn’t want us to know she’s been
crying,” she said to herself as she heard through
the dark the catching of her Mother’s breath, “ we
won’t know it. That’s all.”
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
11
When they came down to breakfast the next
morning, Mother had already gone out.
“ To London,” Ruth said, and left them to their
breakfast.
“ There’s something awful the matter,” said
Peter, breaking his egg. “ Ruth told me last night
we should know soon enough.”
“ Did you ask her ? ” said Roberta, with scorn.
“ Yes, I did ! ” said Peter, angrily. “ If you
could go to bed without caring whether Mother
was worried or not, I couldn’t. So there ! ”
“ I don’t think we ought to ask the servants
things Mother doesn’t tell us,” said Roberta.
“ That’s right, Miss Goody-goody,” said Peter,
“ preach away.”
“/’m not goody,” said Phyllis, “but I think
Bobbie’s right this time.”
“ Of course. She always is. In her own opin-
ion,” said Peter.
« Oh, don't ! ” cried Roberta, putting down her
eggspoon ; “ don’t let’s be horrid to each other.
I’m sure some dire calamity is happening. Don’t
let’s make it worse ! ”
“Who began, I should like to know?” said
Peter.
Roberta made an effort, and answered : —
12
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ I did, I suppose, but — ”
“ Well, then,” said Peter, triumphantly. But
before he went to school he thumped his sister
between the shoulders and told her to cheer up.
The children came home to one o’clock dinner,
but Mother was not there. And she was not there
at tea-time.
It was nearly seven before she came in, looking
so ill and tired that the children felt they could
not ask her any questions. She sank into an arm-
chair. Phyllis took the long pins out of her hat,
while Roberta took off her gloves, and Peter un-
fastened her walking-shoes and fetched her soft
velvety slippers for her.
When she had had a cup of tea, and Roberta
had put eau-de-cologne on her poor head that
ached, Mother said : —
“Now, my darlings, I want to tell you some-
thing. Those men last night did bring very bad
news, and Father will be away for some time. I
am very very worried about it, and I want you all
to help me, and not to make things harder for
me.”
“ As if we would ! ” said Roberta, holding
Mother’s hand against her face.
“ You can help me very much,” said Mother,
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
13
“by being good and happy and not quarrelling
when I’m away,” — Roberta and Peter exchanged
guilty glances, — “ for I shall have to be away a
good deal.”
“We won’t quarrel. Indeed we won’t,” said
everybody. And meant it, too.
“ Then,” Mother went on, « I want you not to
ask me any questions about this trouble ; and not
to ask anybody else any questions.”
Peter cringed and shuffled his boots on the
carpet.
“ You’ll promise this, too, won’t you ? ” said
Mother.
“ I did ask Ruth,” said Peter, suddenly. « I’m
very sorry, but I did.”
“ And what did she say ? ”
“ She said I should know soon enough.”
“ It isn’t necessary for you to know anything
about it,” said Mother ; « it’s about business, and
you never do understand business, do you ? ”
“ No,” said Roberta, “ is it something to do with
Government ? ” For Father was in a Government
Office.
“Yes,” said Mother. “Now it’s bed-time, my
darlings. And don’t you worry. It’ll all come
right in the end.”
14
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“Then don’t you worry either, Mother,” said
Phyllis, “ and we’ll all be as good as gold.”
Mother sighed and kissed them.
“We’ll begin being good the first thing to-morrow
morning,” said Peter, as they went upstairs.
“ Why not now ? ” said Roberta.
“There’s nothing to be good about now, silly,”
said Peter.
“We might begin to try to feel good,” said
Phyllis, “ and not call names.”
“ Who’s calling names ? ” said Peter. “ Bobbie
knows right enough that when I say ‘ silly,’ it’s
just the same as if I said Bobbie.”
“ Wellf said Roberta.
“ No, I don’t mean what you mean. I mean it’s
just a — what is it Father calls it? — a germ of
endearment ! Good night.”
The girls folded up their clothes with more
than usual neatness — which was the only way
of being good that they could think of.
“ I say,” said Phyllis, smoothing out her
pinafore, “you used to say it was so dull — nothing
happening, like in books. Now something has
happened.”
• “ I never wanted things to happen to make
Mother unhappy,” said Roberta. « Everything’s
perfectly horrid.”
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
15
Everything continued to be perfectly horrid
for some weeks.
Mother was nearly always out. Meals were
dull and dirty. The between-maid was sent away,
and Aunt Emma came on a visit. Aunt Emma
was much older than Mother. She was going
to Germany to be governess. She was very
busy getting her clothes ready, and they were
very ugly, dingy clothes, and she had them always
littering about, and the sewing-machine seemed
to whirr — on and on all day and most of the
night. Aunt Emma believed in keeping children
in their proper places. And they more than
returned the compliment. Their idea of Aunt
Emma’s proper place was anywhere where they
were not. So they saw very little of her. They
preferred the company of the servants, who were
more amusing. Cook, if in a good temper, could
sing comic songs, and the housemaid, if she
happened not to be offended with you, could
imitate a hen that has laid an egg, a bottle of
champagne being opened, and could mew like
two cats fighting. The servants never told the
children what the bad new’s was that the gentle-
men had brought to Father. But they kept
hinting that they could tell a great deal if they
chose — and this was not comfortable.
16
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
One day when Peter had made a booby trap
over the bath-room door, and it had acted
beautifully as Ruth passed through, that red-
haired parlour-maid caught him and boxed his
ears.
“ You’ll come to a bad end,” she said furiously,
“you nasty little limb, you ! If you don’t mend
your ways, you’ll go where your precious Father’s
gone, so I tell you straight ! ”
Roberta repeated this to her Mother, and next
day Ruth was sent away.
Then came the time when Mother came home
and went to bed and stayed there two days and
the Doctor came, and the children crept wretchedly
about the house and wondered if the world was
coming to an end.
Mother came down one morning to breakfast,
very pale and with lines on her face that used
not to be there. And she smiled, as well as she
could, and said : —
“ Now, my pets, everything is settled. We’re
going to leave this house, and go and live in the
country. Such a ducky dear little white house.
I know you’ll love it.”
A whirling week of packing followed — not
just packing clothes, like when you go to the
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS 17
seaside, but packing chairs and tables, covering
their tops with sacking and their legs with straw.
All sorts of things were packed that you don’t
pack when you go to the seaside. Crockery,
blankets, candlesticks, carpets, bedsteads, sauce-
pans, and even fenders and fire-irons.
The house was like a furniture warehouse. I
think the children enjoyed it very much. Mother
was very busy, but not too busy now to talk to
them, and read to them, and even to make a bit
of poetry for Phyllis to cheer her up when she
fell down with a screwdriver and ran it into her
hand.
“ Aren’t you going to pack .this, Mother ? ”
Roberta asked, pointing to the beautiful cabinet
inlaid with red turtleshell and brass.
“We can’t take everything,” said Mother.
“ But we seem to be taking all the ugly things,”
said Roberta.
“ We’re taking the useful ones,” said Mother ;
“ we’ve got to play at being Poor for a bit, my
chickabiddy.”
When all the ugly useful things had been packed
up and taken away in a van by men in green-baize
aprons, the two girls and Mother and Aunt Emma
slept in the two spare rooms where the furniture
18
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
was all pretty. All their beds had gone. A bed
was made up for Peter on the drawing-room sofa.
“ I say, this is larks,” he said, wriggling joyously
as Mother tucked him up. “ I do like moving ! I
wish we moved once a month.”
Mother laughed.
“ I don’t ! ” she said. “ Good night, Peterkin.”
As she turned away Roberta saw her face. She
never forgot it.
“ Oh, Mother,” she whispered all to herself as
she got into bed, “ how brave you are ! How I
love you ! Fancy being brave enough to laugh
when you’re feeling like that ! ”
Next day boxes were filled, and boxes and more
boxes ; and then late in the afternoon a cab came
to take them to the station.
Aunt Emma saw them off. They felt that they
were seeing her off, and they were glad of it.
“ But, oh, those poor little German children that
she’s going to governess ! ” whispered Phyllis. “ I
wouldn’t be them for anything ! ”
At first they enjoyed looking out of the window,
but when it grew dark they grew sleepier and
sleepier, and no one knew how long they had been
in the train when they were roused by Mother’s
shaking them gently and saying ; —
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
19
“ Wake up, dears. We’re there.”
They woke up, cold and melancholy, and stood
shivering on the draughty platform while the lug-
gage was taken out of the train. Then the engine,
puffing and blowing, set to work again, and
dragged the train away. The children watched
the tail-lights of the guard’s van disappear into the
darkness.
This was the first train the children saw on that
railway which was in time to become so very dear
to them. They did not guess then how they
would grow to love the railway, and how soon it
would become the centre of their new life, nor
what wonders and changes it would bring to them.
They only shivered and sneezed and hoped the
walk to the new house would not be long. Peter’s
nose was colder than he ever remembered it to have
been before. Roberta’s hat was crooked, and the
elastic seemed tighter than usual. Phyllis’s shoe-
laces had come undone.
“ Come,” said Mother, “ we’ve got to walk.
There aren’t any cabs here.”
The walk was dark and muddy. The children
stumbled a little on the rough road, and once
Phyllis absently fell into a puddle, and was picked
up damp and unhappy. There were no gas-lamps
20
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
on the road, and the road was up-hill. The cart
went at a foot’s pace, and they followed the gritty
crunch of its wheels. As their eyes got used to
the darkness, they could see the mound of boxes
swaying dimly in front of them.
A long gate had to be opened for the cart to pass
through, and after that the road seemed to go
across fields, — and now it went down hill. Pres-
ently a great dark lumpish thing shewed over to
the right.
“ There’s the house,” said Mother. “ I wonder
why she’s shut the shutters.”
“ Who’s she f ” asked Roberta.
“ The woman I engaged to clean the place, and
put the furniture straight and get supper.”
There was a low wall, and trees inside.
“That’s the garden,” said Mother.
“ It looks more like a dripping-pan full of black
cabbages,” said Peter.
The cart went on along by the garden wall,
and round to the back of the house, and here it
clattered into a cobble-stoned yard and stopped
at the back door.
There was no light in any of the windows.
Every one hammered at the door, but no one
came.
THE BEGINNING OF THINGS
21
The man who drove the cart said he expected
Mrs. Viney had gone home.
“You see your train was that late,” said
he.
“ But she’s got the key,” said Mother. “ What
are we to do ? ”
“ Oh, she’ll have left that under the doorstep,”
said the cart man ; “ folks do hereabouts.” He
took the lantern off his cart and stooped.
“ Ay, here it is, right enough,” he said.
He unlocked the door and went in and set his
lantern on the table.
“ Got e’er a candle ? ” said he.
“ I don’t know where anything is.” Mother
spoke rather less cheerfully than usual.
He struck a match. There was a candle on the
table, and he lighted it. By its thin little glimmer
the children saw a large bare kitchen with a stone
floor. There were no curtains, no hearth-rug.
The kitchen table from home stood in the middle
of the room. The chairs were in one corner, and
the pots, pans, brooms, and crockery in another.
There was no fire, and the black grate showed
cold, dead ashes.
As the cart man turned to go out and after he
had brought in the boxes, there was a rustling,
22
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
scampering sound that seemed to come from inside
the walls of the house.
“ Oh, what’s that ? ” cried the girls.
“ It’s only the rats,” said the cart man. And he
went away and shut the door, and the sudden
draught of it blew out the candle.
“ O dear,” said Phyllis, “ I wish we hadn’t
come ! ” and she knocked a chair over.
“ Only the rats ! ” said Peter, in the dark.
CHAPTER II
peter’s coal-mine
“What fun!” said Mother, in the dark, feeling
for the matches on the table. “How frightened
the poor mice were — I don’t believe they were
rats at all.”
She struck a match and relighted the candle,
and every one looked at each other by its winky,
blinky light.
“Well,” she said, “you’ve often wanted some-
thing to happen, and now it has. This is quite
an adventure, isn’t it ? I told Mrs. Viney to get us
some bread and butter, and meat things, and to
have supper ready. I suppose she’s laid it in the
dining room. So let’s go and see.”
The dining room opened out of the kitchen. It
looked much darker than the kitchen when they
went in with the one candle. Because the kitchen
was whitewashed, but the dining room was dark
wood from floor to ceiling, and across the ceiling
there were heavy black beams. There was a mud-
dled maze of dusty furniture — the breakfast-room
23
24
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
furniture from the old home where they had lived
all their lives. It seemed a very long time ago,
and a very long way off.
There was the table certainly, and there were
chairs, but there was no supper.
“ Let’s look in the other rooms,” said Mother ;
and they looked. And in each room was the same
kind of blundering half-arrangement of furniture,
and fire-irons and crockery, and all sorts of odd
things on the floor, but there was nothing to eat ;
and even in the pantry there was only a rusty
game-tin and a broken plate with whitening mixed
in it.
“ What a horrid old woman ! ” said Mother ;
“she’s just walked off with the money and not got
us anything to eat at all.”
“ Then shan’t we have any supper at all ? ” asked
Phyllis, dismayed, stepping back on to a soap-dish
that cracked responsively.
“Oh, yes,” said Mother, “only it’ll mean un-
packing one of those big cases that we put in the
cellar. Phil, do mind where you’re walking to,
there’s a dear. Peter, hold the light.”
The cellar door opened out of the kitchen.
There were five wooden steps leading down. It
wasn’t a proper cellar at all, the children thought,
PETER’S COAL-MINE
25
because its ceiling went up as high as the kitchen’s.
A bacon-rack hung under its ceiling. There was
wood in it, and coal. Also the big cases.
Peter held the candle, all on one side, while
Mother tried to open the great packing-case. It
was very securely nailed down.
“ Where’s the hammer ? ” asked Peter.
“ That’s just it,” said Mother. “ Pm afraid it’s
inside the box. But there’s a coal-shovel — and
there’s the kitchen poker.”
And with these she tried to get the case open.
“ Let me do it,” said Peter, thinking he could do
it better himself. Every one thinks this when he
sees another person stirring a fire, or opening a
box, or untying a knot in a bit of string.
“ You’ll hurt your hands, Mammy,” said Roberta ;
“ let me.”
“ I wish Father was here,” said Phyllis ; “ he’d
get it open in two shakes. What are you kicking
me for, Bobbie ? ”
“I wasn’t,” said Roberta.
Just then the first of the long nails in the pack-
ing case began to come out with a scrunch. Then
a lath was raised and then another, till all four
stood up with the long nails in them shining
fiercely like iron teeth in the candle-light.
26
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Hooray ! ” said Mother ; “ here are some candles
— the very first thing! You girls go and light
them. You’ll find some saucers and things. Just
drop a little candle-grease in the saucer and stick
the candle upright in it.”
“ How many shall we light ? ”
“ As many as ever you like,” said Mother, gaily.
“ The great thing is to be cheerful. Nobody can
be cheerful in the dark except owls and dormice.”
So the girls lighted candles. The head of the first
match flew off and stuck to Phyllis’s finger; but,
as Roberta said, it was only a little burn, and she
might have had to be a Roman martyr and be
burned whole if she had happened to live in the
days when those things were fashiouable.
Then when the dining room was lighted by
fourteen candles, Roberta fetched coal and wood,
and lighted a fire.
“ It’s very cold for May,” she said, feeling what a
grown-up thing it was to say.
The fire-light and the candle-light made the
dining room look very different, for now you
could see that the dark walls were of wood
carved here and there into little wreaths and
loops.
The girls hastily “tidied” the room, which
PETER'S COAL-MINE
27
meant putting the chairs against the wall, and
piling all the odds and ends into a corner and
partly hiding them with the big leather arm-chair
that Father used to sit in after dinner.
“ Bravo ! ” cried Mother, coming in with a tray
full of things. “ This is something like ! I’ll just
get a table-cloth and then — ”
The table-cloth was in a box with a proper lock
that was opened with a key and not with a shovel,
and when the cloth was spread on the table, a real
feast was laid out on it.
Every one was very very tired, but every one
cheered up at the sight of the funny and delightful
supper. There were biscuits, the Marie and the
plain kind, sardines, preserved ginger, cooking
raisins, and candied peel and marmalade.
“ What a good thing Aunt Emma packed up all
the odds and ends out of the Store cupboard,” said
Mother. “Now, Phil, don’t put the marmalade
spoon in among the sardines.”
“ No, I won’t, Mother,” said Phyllis, and put it
down among the Marie biscuits.
“Let’s drink Aunt Emma’s health,” said Ro-
berta, suddenly; “what should we have done if
she hadn’t packed up these things? Here’s to
Aunt Emma ! ”
28
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
And the toast was drunk in ginger wine and
water, out of willow-patterned tea-cups, because
the glasses couldn’t be found.
They all felt that they had been a little hard on
Aunt Emma. She wasn’t a nice cuddly person
like Mother, but after all it was she who had
thought of packing up the odds and ends of
things to eat.
It was Aunt Emma, too, who had aired all the
sheets ready ; and the men who had moved the
furniture had put the bedsteads together, so
the beds were soon made.
“ Good night, chickies,” said Mother. “ I’m sure
there aren’t any rats. But I’ll leave my door
open, and then if a mouse comes, you need only
scream, and I’ll come and tell it exactly what I
think of it.”
Then she went to her own room. Roberta
woke to hear the little travelling clock chime
two. It sounded like a church clock ever so far
away, she always thought. And she heard, too,
Mother still moving about in her room.
Next morning Roberta woke Phyllis by pulling
her hair gently, but quite enough for her purpose.
“ Wassermarrer ? ” asked Phyllis, still almost
wholly asleep.
PETER’S COAL-MINE
29
“ Wake up ! wake up ! ” said Roberta. “ We’re
in the new house — don’t you remember? No
servants or anything. Let’s get up and begin to
be useful. We’ll just creep down mouse-quietly,
and have everything beautiful before Mother gets
up. I’ve woke Peter. He’ll be dressed as soon
as we are.”
So they dressed quietly and quickly. Of course
there was no water in their room, so when they
got down they washed as much as they thought
was necessary under the spout of the pump in the
yard. One pumped and the other washed. It
was splashy but interesting.
“ It’s much more fun than basiny washing,”
said Roberta. “ How sparkly the weeds are
between the stones, and the moss on the roof —
oh, and the flowers ! ”
The roof of the back kitchen sloped down quite
low. It was made of thatch and it had moss on
it, and house-leeks and stone crop and wall-flowers,
and even a clump of purple flag-flowers, at the far
corner.
“ This is far far farandaway prettier than
Edgecombe Villa,” said Phyllis. “ I wonder what
the garden’s like.”
“We mustn’t think of the garden yet,” said
30
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Roberta, with earnest energy. “ Let’s go in and
begin to work.”
They lighted the fire and put the kettle on, and
they arranged the crockery for breakfast; they
could not find all the right things, but a glass
ash-tray made an excellent salt-cellar, and a newish
baking-tin seemed as if it would do to put bread
on, if they had any.
When there seemed to be nothing more that
they could do, they went out again into the fresh
bright morning.
“ We’ll go into the garden now,” said Peter.
But somehow they couldn’t find the garden.
They went round the house and round the house.
The yard occupied the back, and across it were
stables and outbuildings. On the other three
sides the house stood simply in a field, without
a yard of garden to divide it from the short
smooth turf. And yet they had certainly seen
the garden wall the night before.
It was a hilly country. Down below they could
see the line of the railway, and the black yawn-
ing mouth of a tunnel. The station was out of
sight. There was a great bridge with tall arches
running across one end of the valley.
“ Never mind the garden,” said Peter ; “ let’s
PETER’S COAL-MINE
31
go down and look at the railway. There might
be trains passing.”
“ We can see them from here,” said Roberta,
slowly ; “ let’s sit down a bit.”
So they all sat down on a great flat gray stone
that had pushed itself up out of the grass ; it
was one of many that lay about on the hillside,
and when mother came out to look for them at
eight o’clock, she found them deeply asleep in a
contented sun-warmed bunch.
They had made an excellent fire, and had set
the kettle on it at about half-past five. So that
by eight the fire had been out for some time,
the water had all boiled away, and the bottom
was burned out of the kettle. Also they had
not thought of washing the crockery before they
set the table.
“ But it doesn’t matter — the cups and saucers,
I mean,” said Mother. “ Because I’ve found
another room — I’d quite forgotten there was
one. And it’s magic ! And I’ve boiled the water
for tea in a saucepan.”
The forgotten room opened out of the kitchen.
In the agitation and half darkness the night before
its door had been mistaken for a cupboard’s. It
was a little square room, and on its table, all
32
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
nicely set out, was a joint of cold roast beef, with
bread, butter, cheese, and a pie.
“ Pie for breakfast ! ” cried Peter ; “ how per-
fectly ripping ! ”
“ It isn’t pigeon-pie,” said Mother ; “ it’s only
apple. Well, this is the supper we ought to have
had last night. And there was a note from Mrs.
Viney. Her son-in-law has broken his arm, and
she had to get home early. She’s coming this
morning at ten.”
That was a wonderful breakfast. It is unusual
to begin the day with cold apple pie, but the
children all said they would rather have it than
meat.
“You see it’s more like dinner than breakfast
to us,” said Peter, passing his plate for more,
“because we were up so early.”
The day passed in helping Mother to unpack
and arrange things. Six small legs quite ached
with running about while their owners carried
clothes and crockery and all sorts of things to
their proper places. It was not till quite late
in the afternoon that Mother said : —
“ There ! That’ll do for to-day. I’ll lie down
for an hour, so as to be as fresh as a lark by
supper-time.”
PETER’S COAL-MINE
33
Then they all looked at each other. Each of
the three expressive countenances expressed the
same thought. That thought was double, and
consisted, like the bits of information in the
Child’s Guide to Knowledge, of a question, and
an answer.
Q. Where shall we go ?
A. To the railway.
So to the railway they went, and as soon as
they started for the railway they saw where the
garden had hidden itself. It was right behind
the stables, and it had a high wall all round.
“ Oh, never mind about the garden now ! ” cried
Peter. “ Mother told me this morning where
it was. It’ll keep till to-morrow. Let’s get to
the railway.”
The way to the railway was all down hill,
over smooth, short turf with here and there furze
bushes and gray and yellow rocks sticking out
like candied peal out of the top of a cake.
The way ended in a steep run and a wooden
fence, — and there was the railway with the
shining metals and the telegraph wires and posts
and signals.
They all climbed on to the top of the fence, and
then suddenly there was a rumbling sound that
34
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
made them look along the line to the right, where
the dark mouth of a tunnel opened itself in the
face of a rocky cliff; next moment a train had
rushed out of the tunnel with a shriek and a snort,
and had slid noisily past them. They felt the rush
of its passing, and the pebbles on the line jumped
and rattled under it as it went by.
“ Oh ! ” said Roberta, drawing a long breath ;
“ it was like a great dragon tearing by. Did you
feel it fan us with its hot wings ? ”
“ I suppose a dragon’s lair might look very like
that tunnel from the outside,” said Phyllis.
But Peter said : —
“ I never thought we should ever get as near to a
train as this. It’s the most ripping sport ! ”
“ Better than toy-engines, isn’t it ? ” said
Roberta.
(I am tired of calling Roberta by her name. I
don’t see why I should. No one else did. Every
one else called her Bobbie, and I don’t see why I
shouldn’t.)
“ I don’t know ; it’s different,” said Peter. “ It
seems so odd to see all of a train. It’s awfully
tall, isn’t it ? ”
“ We’ve always seen them cut in half by plat-
forms,” said Phyllis.
PETER’S COAL-MINE
35
“ I wonder if that train was going to London,”
Bobbie said. “ London’s where father is.”
“Let’s go down to the station and find out,”
said Peter.
So they went.
They walked along the edge of the line, and
heard the telegraph wires humming over their
heads. When you are in the train, it seems such a
little way between post and post, and one after
another the posts seem to catch up the wires
almost more quickly than you can count them.
But when you have to walk, the posts seem few
and far between.
But the children got to the station at last.
Never before had any of them been at a station,
except for the purpose of catching trains, — or per-
haps waiting for them, — and always with grown-
ups in attendance, grown-ups who were not
themselves interested in stations, except as places
from which they wished to get away.
Never before had they passed close enough to a
signal box to be able to notice the wires, and to
hear the mysterious “ ping ping,” followed by the
strong firm clicking of machinery.
The very sleepers on which the rails lay were
a delightful path to travel by — just far enough
36
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
apart to serve as the stepping stones in a game of
foaming torrents hastily organised by Bobbie.
Then to arrive at the station, not through the
booking office, but in a freebooting sort of way by
the sloping end of the platform. This in itself was
joy.
Joy, too, it was to peep into the porter’s room,
where the lamps are, and the Railway almanac
on the wall, and one porter half asleep behind
Lloyd’s Weekly News.
There were a great many crossing lines at the
station ; some of them just ran into a yard and
stopped short, as though they were tired of busi-
ness and meant to retire for good. Trucks stood on
the rails here, and on one side was a great heap of
coal — not a loose heap, such as you see in your
coal cellar, but a sort of solid building of coals,
with large square blocks of coal outside used just
as though they were brick, and built up till the
heap looked like the picture of the Cities of the
Plain in “ Bible Stories for Infants.” There was
a line of whitewash near the top of the coaly
wall.
When, presently, the porter lounged out of his
room at the twice-repeated tingling thrill of a
gong over the station door, Peter said, “ How do
PETER’S COAL-MINE
37
you do ? ” in his best manner, and hastened to
ask what the white mark was on the coal
for.
“ To mark how much coal there be,” said the
Porter, “so as we’ll know if any one nicks it.
So don’t you go off with none in your pockets,
young gentleman ! ”
This seemed, at the time, but a merry jest,
and Peter felt at once that the porter was a
friendly sort, with no nonsense about him. But
later the words came back to Peter with a new
meaning.
Have you ever gone into a farm-house kitchen
on a baking day, and seen the great crock of
dough set by the fire to rise ? If you have, and
if you were at that time still young enough to
be interested in everything you saw, you will
remember that you found yourself quite unable
to resist the temptation to poke your finger into
the soft round of dough that curved inside the
pan like a giant mushroom. And you will re-
member that your finger made a dent in the
dough, and that slowly, but quite surely, the
dent disappeared, and the dough looked quite
the same as it did before you touched it. Un-
less, of course, your hand was extra dirty, in
38
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
which case, of course, there would be a little
black mark.
Well, it was just like that with the sorrow
the children had felt at Father’s going away, and
at Mother’s being so unhappy. It made a deep
impression, but the impression did not last long.
They soon got used to being without Father,
though they did not forget him, and they got
used to not going to school, and to seeing very
little of Mother, who was now almost all day
locked up in her upstairs room waiting, writing,
writing. She used to come down at tea-time
and read aloud the stories she had written.
They were lovely stories.
The rocks and hills and valleys and trees,
the canal, and above all, the railway, were so
new and so perfectly pleasing that the remem-
brance of the old life in the villa grew to seem
almost like a dream.
Mother had told them more than once that
they were “ quite poor l^ow,” but this did not
seem to be anything but a way of speaking.
Grown-up people, even Mothers, often make re-
marks that don’t seem to mean anything in par-
ticular, just for the sake of saying something,
seemingly. There was always enough to eat, and
PETER'S COAL-MINE
39
they wore the same kind of nice clothes they
had always worn.
But in June came three wet days; the rain
came down, straight as lances, and it was very
very cold. Nobody could go out, and everybody
shivered. They all went up to the door of
Mother’s room and knocked.
“Well, what is it?” asked Mother from in-
side.
“ Mother,” said Bobbie, “ mayn’t I light a fire ?
I do know how.”
And Mother said : “No, my ducky -love. We
mustn’t have fires in June — coal is so dear.
If you’re cold, go and have a good romp in the
attic. That’ll warm you.”
“ But, Mother, it only takes such a very little
coal to make a fire.”
“ It’s more than we can afford, chickeny-love,”
said Mother, cheerfully. “Now run away, there’s
darlings — I’m madly busy ! ”
“Mother’s always busy now,” said Phyllis, in
a whisper to Peter. Peter did not answer. He
shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking.
Thought, however, could not long keep itself
from the suitable furnishing of a bandit’s lair in
the attic. Peter was the bandit, of course.
40
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Bobbie was his lieutenant, his band of trusty
robbers, and, in due course, the parent of Phyllis,
who was the captured maiden for whom a mag-
nificent ransom — in horse-beans — was unhesi-
tatingly paid.
They all went down to tea flushed and joyous
as any mountain brigands.
But when Phyllis was going to add jam to her
bread and butter, Mother said : —
“ Jam or butter, dear — not jam and butter.
We can’t afford that sort of reckless luxury
nowadays.”
Phyllis finished the slice of bread and butter in
silence, and followed it up by bread and jam.
Peter mingled weak tea and thought.
After tea they went back to the attic and he
said to his sisters: —
“ I have an idea.”
“ What’s that ? ” they asked politely.
“ I shan’t tell you,” was Peter’s unexpected
rejoinder.
“ Oh, very well,” said Bobbie ; and Phil said,
“ Don’t, then.”
“Girls,” said Peter, “are always so hasty
tempered.”
“ I should like to know what boys are,” said
PETER’S COAL-MINE
41
Bobbie, with fine disdain. “ I don’t want to know
about your silly ideas.”
“ You’ll know some day,” said Peter, keeping
his own temper by what looked exactly like a
miracle ; “ if you hadn’t been so keen on a row, I
might have told you about it, being only noble-
heartedness that made me not tell you my idea.
But now I shan’t tell you anything at all about it
— so there ! ”
And it was, indeed, some time before he could
be induced to say anything, and when he did it
wasn’t much. He said : —
“ The only reason why I won’t tell you my idea
that I’m going to do is because it may be wrong,
and I don’t want to drag you into it.”
“ Don’t you do it if it’s wrong, Peter,” said
Bobbie ; “ let me do it.” But Phyllis said : * —
“I should like to do wrong if you're going to ! ”
“ No,” said Peter, rather touched by this devo-
tion ; “ it’s a forlorn hope, and I’m going to lead
it. All I ask is that if Mother asks where I am,
you won’t blab.”
“We haven’t got anything to blab,” said Bobbie,
indignantly.
“ Oh, yes, you have ! ” said Peter, dropping horse-
beans through his fingers. “ I’ve trusted you to
42
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
the death. You know Pm going to do a lone ad-
venture — and some people might think it wrong
— I don’t. And if Mother asks where I am, say
I’m playing at mines.”
“ What sort of mines ? ”
“ You just say mines.”
“ You might tell us , Pete.”
“Well, then, c^Z-mines. But don’t you let the
word pass your lips on pain of torture.”
“ You needn’t threaten,” said Bobbie, “and I do
think you might let us help.”
“ If I find a coal-mine, you shall help cart the
coal,” Peter condescended to promise.
“ Keep your secret if you like,” said Phyllis.
“ Keep it if you can ,” said Bobbie.
“ I’ll keep it, right enough,” said Peter.
Between tea and supper there is an interval even
in the most greedily regulated families. At this
time Mother was usually writing, and Mrs. Viney
had gone home.
Two nights after the dawning of Peter’s idea he
beckoned the girls mysteriously at the twilight
hour.
“ Come hither with me,” he said, « and bring
the Roman Chariot.”
The Roman Chariot was a very old perambula-
PETER’S COAL-MINE
43
tor that had spent years of retirement in the loft
over the coach-house. The children had oiled its
works till it glided noiseless as a pneumatic bi-
cycle, and answered to the helm as it had probably
never done in its best days.
“ Follow your dauntless leader,” said Peter, and
led the way down the hill towards the station.
Just above the station many rocks have pushed
their heads out through the turf as though they,
like the children, were interested in the railway.
In a little hollow between three rocks lay a heap
of dried brambles and heather.
Peter halted, turned over the brushwood with a
well-scarred boot, and said : —
“ Here’s the first coal from the St. Peter’s Mine.
We’ll take it home in the chariot. Punctuality
and despatch. All orders carefully attended to.
Any shaped lump cut to suit regular customers.”
The chariot was packed full of coal. And when
it was packed it had to be unpacked again because
it was so heavy that it couldn’t be got up the hill
by the three children, not even when Peter har-
nessed himself to the handle with his braces, and
firmly grasping his waistband in one hand pulled
while the girls pushed behind.
Three journeys had to be made before the coal
44
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
from Peter’s mine was added to the heap of
Mother’s coal in the cellar.
Afterwards Peter went out alone, and came
back very black and mysterious.
“ I’ve been to my coal-mine,” he said ; “ to-
morrow evening we’ll bring home the golden dia-
monds in the chariot.”
It was a week later that Mrs. Viney remarked
to Mother how well this last lot of coal was hold-
ing out.
The children hugged themselves and each other
in complicated wriggles of silent laughter as they
listened on the stairs. They had all forgotten by
now that there had ever been any doubt in Peter’s
mind as to whether coal-mining was wrong.
But there came a dreadful night when the Sta-
tion Master put on a pair of old sand shoes that he
had worn at the seaside in his summer holiday,
and crept out very quietly to the yard where the
Sodom and Gomorrha heap of coal was, with the
whitewashed line round it. He crept out there,
and he waited like a cat by a mousehole. On
the top of the heap something small and dark
was scrabbling and rattling furtively among the
coal.
The Station Master concealed himself in the
PETER’S COAL-MINE
45
shadow of a brake-van that had a little tin chim-
ney and was labelled : —
G. N. E. & S. R.
34576
Return at once to
White Heather Sidings
and in this concealment he lurked till the small
thing on the top of the heap ceased to scrabble and
rattle, came to the edge of the heap, cautiously let
itself down, and lifted something after it. Then
the arm of the Station Master was raised, the hand
of the Station Master fell on a collar, and there
was Peter held firmly by the jacket, with an old
carpenter’s bag full of coal in his trembling clutch.
“ So I’ve caught you at last, have I, you young
thief ? ” said the Station Master.
“ Pm not a thief,” said Peter, as firmly as he
could. “ I’m a coal-miner.”
“Tell that to the Marines,” said the Station
Master.
“ It would be just as true whoever I told it
to,” said Peter.
“ You’re right there,” said the man, who held
him. “ Stow your jaw, you young rip, and come
along to the station.”
“Oh, no,” cried in the darkness an agonized
voice that was not Peter’s.
46
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Not the police station ! ” said another voice
from the darkness.
“ Not yet,” said the Station Master. “ The Rail-
way Station first. Why, it’s a regular gang.
Any more of you ? ”
“ Only us,” said Bobbie and Phyllis, coming out
of the shadow of another truck labelled Staveley
Colliery, and bearing on it the legend in white
chalk, “ Wanted in No. 1 Road.”
“ What do you mean by spying on a fellow like
this ? ” said Peter, angrily.
“Time some one did spy on you, / think,” said
the Station Master. “ Come along to the station.”
“ Oh, don’t ! ” said Bobbie. “ Can’t you decide
now what you’ll do to us ? It’s our fault just as
much as Peter’s. We helped to carry the coal
away — and we knew where he got it.”
“ No, you didn’t,” said Peter.
“ Yes, we did,” said Bobbie. “We knew all the
time. We only pretended we didn’t just to humour
you.”
Peter’s cup was full. He had mined for coal,
he had struck coal, he had been caught, and now
he learned that his sisters had “ humoured ” him.
“ Don’t hold me ! ” he said. “ I won’t run
away.”
PETER’S COAL-MINE
47
The Station Master loosed Peter’s collar, struck
a match, and looked at them by its flickering
light.
“ Why,” said he, “ you’re the children from the
Three Chimneys up yonder. So nicely dressed,
too. Tell me now, what made you do such a
thing ? Haven’t you ever been to church or
learned your catechisms or anything, not to know
it’s wicked to steal ? ” He spoke much more
gently now, and Peter said : —
“ I didn’t think it was stealing. I was almost
sure it wasn’t. I thought if I took it from the
outside part of the heap, perhaps it would be. But
in the middle I thought I could fairly count it
only mining. It’ll take thousands of years for
you to burn up all that coal and get to the
middle parts.”
“Not quite. But did you do it for a lark or
what ? ”
“ Not much lark carting that beastly heavy stuff
up the hill,” said Peter, indignantly.
“ Then why did you ? ” The Station Master’s
voice was so much kinder now that Peter
replied : —
“ You know that wet day ? Well, Mother said
we were too poor to have a fire. We always
48
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
had fires when it was cold at our other house,
and — ”
“ Don't ! ” interrupted Bobbie, in a whisper.
“Well,” said the Station Master, rubbing his
chin thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do.
I’ll look over it this once. But you remember,
young gentleman, stealing is stealing, and what’s
mine isn’t yours, whether you call it mining or
whether you don’t. Run along home.”
“ Do you mean you aren’t going to do anything
to us? Well, you are a brick,” said Peter, with
enthusiasm.
“You’re a dear,” said Bobbie.
“You’re a darling,” said Phyllis.
“ That’s all right,” said the Station Master.
And on this they parted.
“ Don’t speak to me,” said Peter, as the three
went up the hill. “ You’re spies and traitors, —
that’s what you are.”
But the girls were too glad to have Peter be-
tween them, safe and free, and on the way to
Three Chimneys and not to the Police Station to
mind much what he said.
“We did say it was us as much as you,” said
Bobbie, gently.
“ Well — and it wasn’t.”
PETER’S COAL-MINE
49
“ It would have come to the same thing in
Courts with judges,” said Phyllis. “ Don’t be
snarky, Peter. It isn’t our fault your secrets are
so jolly easy to find out.” She took his arm, and
he let her.
“ There’s an awful lot of coal in the cellar, any-
how,” he went on.
“ Oh, don’t ! ” said Bobbie. “ I don’t think we
ought to be glad about that”
“I don’t know,” said Peter, plucking up spirit.
“ I’m not at all sure, even now, that mining is a
crime.”
But the girls were quite sure. And they were
also quite sure that he was quite sure, however
little he cared to own it.
CHAPTER III
THE OLD GENTLEMEN
After the adventure of Peter’s Coal-Mine, it
seemed well to the children to keep away from
the station, — but they did not, they could not,
keep away from the railway. They had lived all
their lives in a street where cabs and omnibuses
rumbled by at all hours, and the carts of butchers
and bakers and candlestick makers (I never saw a
candlestick-maker’s cart ; did you ?) might occur
at any moment. Here in the deep silence of the
sleeping country the only things that went by were
the trains. They seemed to be all that was left to
link the children to the old life that had once been
theirs. Straight down the hill in front of Three
Chimneys the daily passage of their six feet began
to mark a path across the crisp, short turf. They
began to know the hours when certain trains
passed, and they gave names to them. The 9.15
up was called the Green Dragon. The 10.7 down
was the Worm of Wantley. The midnight town
express, whose shrieking rush they sometimes woke
60
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
51
from their dreams to hear, was the Fearsome Fly-
by-night. Peter got up once, in chill starshine,
and peeking at it through his curtain named it on
the spot.
It was by the Green Dragon that the old gentle-
man travelled. He was a very nice-looking old
gentleman, and he looked as if he were nice, too,
which is not at all the same thing. He had a
fresh-coloured, clean-shaven face, and white hair,
and he wore rather odd-shaped collars and a top-
hat that wasn’t exactly the same kind as other
people’s. Of course the children didn’t see all this
at first. In fact the first thing they noticed about
the old gentleman was his hand.
It was one morning as they sat on the fence
waiting for the Green Dragon, which was three and
a quarter minutes late by Peter’s Waterbury watch
that he had had given him on his last birthday.
“ The Green Dragon’s going where Father is,”
said Phyllis ; “ if it were a really real dragon,
we could stop it and ask it to take our love to
Father.”
“ Dragons don’t carry people’s love,” said Peter ;
“ they’d be above it.”
“Yes, they do, if you tame them thoroughly
first. They fetch and carry like pet spaniels,”
52
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
said Phyllis, “and feed out of your hand. I won-
der why Father never writes to us.”
“ Mother says he’s been too busy,” said Bobbie ;
“ but he’ll write soon, she says.”
“ I say,” Phyllis suggested, “ let’s all wave to the
Green Dragon as it goes by. If it’s a magic
dragon, it’ll understand and take our loves to
Father. And if it isn’t, three waves aren’t much.
We shall never miss them.”
So when the Green Dragon tore shrieking out of
the mouth of its dark lair, which was the tunnel,
all three children stood on the railing and waved
their pocket handkerchiefs without stopping to
think whether they were clean handkerchiefs or
the reverse. They were, as a matter of fact, very
much the reverse.
And out of a first-class carriage a hand waved
back. A quite clean hand. It held a news-
paper.
After this it became the custom for waves to be
exchanged between the children and the 9.15.
And the children, especially the girls, liked to
think that perhaps the old gentleman knew Father,
and would meet him “ in business ” wherever that
shady retreat might he, and tell him how his three
children stood on a rail far away in the green
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
53
country and waved their love to him every morn-
ing, wet or fine.
For they were now able to go out in all sorts
of weathers such as they would never have been
allowed to go out in when they lived in their
villa house. This was Aunt Emma’s doing, and
the children felt more and more that they
had not been quite fair to this unattractive aunt,
when they found how useful were the long
gaiters and waterproof coats that they had laughed
at her for buying for them.
Mother, all this time, was very busy with her
writing. She used to send off a good many long
blue envelopes with stories in them, — and large
envelopes of different sizes and colours used to
come to her. Sometimes she would sigh when
she opened them and say : —
“ Another story come home to roost. O dear,
O dear ! ” and then the children would be very
sorry.
But sometimes she would wave the envelope
in the air and say : —
“ Hooray, hooray. Here’s a sensible Editor.
He’s taken my story and this is the proof of it.’’
At first the children thought “the Proof” meant
the letter the sensible Editor had written, but
54
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
they presently got to know that the proof was
long slips of paper with the story printed on them.
Whenever an Editor was sensible, there were
buns for tea.
One day Peter was going down to the village
to get buns to celebrate the sensibleness of the
Editor of the Children's Globe , when he met the
Station Master.
Peter felt very uncomfortable, for he had now
had time to think over the affair of the coal-mine.
He did not like to say “Good morning” to the
Station Master, as you usually do to any one
you meet on a lonely country road, because he
had a hot feeling, which spread even to his ears,
that the Station Master might not care to speak
to a person who had stolen coals. “ Stolen ” is
a nasty word, but Peter felt it was the right one.
So he looked down, and said Nothing.
It was the Station Master who said, “ Good
morning,” as he passed by. And Peter answered,
“ Good morning.” Then he thought.
“Perhaps he doesn’t know who I am by day.
light, or he wouldn’t be so polite.”
And he did not like the feeling which thinking
this gave him. And then before he knew what
he was going to do he ran after the Station
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
55
Master, who stopped when he heard Peter’s hasty
boots crunching the road, and coming up with
him very breathless and with his ears now quite
magenta-coloured, he said : —
“ I don’t want you to be polite to me if you
don’t know me when you see me.”
“ Eh ? ” said the Station Master.
“ I thought perhaps you didn’t know it was me
that took the coals,” Peter went on, “when you said,
‘Good morning.’ But it was, and Pm sorry. There.”
“ Why,” said the Station Master, “ I wasn’t
thinking anything at all about the precious coals.
Let bygones be bygones. And where were you
off to in such a hurry ? ”
“ Pm going to buy buns for tea,” said Peter.
“ I thought you were all so poor,” said the
Station Master.
“ So we are,” said Peter, confidentially, “ but
we always have three pennyworth of halfpennies
for tea whenever Mother sells a story or a poem
or anything.”
“ Oh,” said the Station Master, “-so your Mother
writes stories, does she ? ”
“ The beautifullest jmu ever,” said Peter.
“You ought to be very proud to have such a
clever Mother.”
56
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“Yes,” said Peter, “but she used to play with
us more before she had to be so clever.”
“ Well,” said the Station Master, “ I must be
getting along. You give us a look in at the Station
whenever you feel so inclined. And as to coals, it’s
a word that — well — oh, no, we won’t mention it,
eh?”
“ Thank you,” said Peter. “ I’m very glad it’s
all straightened out between us.” And he went
on across the canal bridge to the village to get the
buns, feeling more comfortable in his inside mind
than he had felt since the hand of the Station
Master had fastened on his collar that night among
the coals.
Next day when they had sent the threefold
wave of greeting to Father by the Green Dragon,
and the old gentlemen had waved back as usual,
Peter proudly led the way to the station.
“ But ought we ? ” said Bobbie.
“ After the coals, she means,” Phyllis explained.
“I met the Station Master yesterday,” said
Peter, in an olf-hand way, and he pretended not to
hear what Phyllis had said ; “ he expresspecially
invited us to go down any time we liked.”
“ After the coals ? ” repeated Phyllis. “ Stop a
minute — my bootlace is undone again.”
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
57
“ It always is undone again,” said Peter, “ and
the Station Master was more of a gentleman than
you’ll ever be, Phil — throwing coals at a chap’s
head like that.”
Phyllis did up her bootlace and went on in
silence, but her shoulders shook, and presently a
fat tear fell off her nose and splashed on the metal
of the railway line. Bobby saw it.
“ Why, what’s the matter, darling ? ” she said,
stopping short and putting her arm round the
heaving shoulders.
“ He called me un — un — ungentlemanly,”
sobbed Phyllis. “ I didn’t never call him unlady-
like, not even when he tied my Clorinda to the fire-
wood bundle and burned her at the stake for a
martyr.”
Peter had indeed perpetrated this outrage a year
or two before.
“ Well, you began, you know,” said Bobby, hon-
estly, “ about coals and all that. Don’t you think
you’d better both unsay everything since the w T ave,
and let honour be satisfied ? ”
“ I will if Peter will,” said Phyllis, sniffling.
“ All right,” said Peter ; “ honour is satisfied.
Here, use my hankie, Phil, for goodness sake, if
you’ve lost yours as usual. I wonder what you do
with them.”
58
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ You had my last one,” said Phyllis, indignantly,
“ to tie up the rabbit-hutch door with. But you’re
very ungrateful. It’s quite right what it says in
the poetry book about sharper than a serpent it is
to have a toothless child, — but it means ungrate-
ful when it says toothless. Miss Lowe told me
so.”
“ All right,” said Peter, impatiently, “ I’m sorry.
There ! Now will you come on ? ”
They reached the station and spent a joyous two
hours with the Porter. He was a worthy man and
seemed never tired of answering questions that
began with “ Why — ” which many people in
higher ranks of life often seem weary of.
He told them many things that they had not
known before, — as for instance that the things that
hook carriages together are called couplings, and
that the pipes like great serpents that hang over
the couplings are meant to stop the train with.
“ If you could get a holt of one o’ them when
the train is going and pull ’em apart,” said he,
“ she’d stop dead off with a jerk.”
“ Who’s she ? ” said Phyllis.
“ The train, of course,” said the Porter. After
that the train was never again “ It ” to the children.
“ And you know the thing in the carriages where
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
59
it says on it, ‘Five pounds fine for improper use.’
If you was to improperly use that, the train ’ud
stop.”
“ And if you used it properly ? ” said Roberta.
“ It ’ud stop just the same, I suppose,” said he,
“ but it isn’t proper use unless you’re being mur-
dered. There was an old lady once — some one
kidded her on it was a refreshment-room bell, and
she used it improper, not being in danger of her
life, though hungry, and when the train stopped
and the guard came along expecting to find some
one weltering in their last moments, she says, 6 Oh,
please, Mister, I’ll take a glass of stout and a bath
bun,’ she says. And the train was seven minutes
behind her time as it was.”
“ What did the guard say to the old lady ? ”
“ I dunno,” replied the Porter, “ but I lay she
didn’t forget it in a hurry, whatever it was.”
In such delightful conversation the time went
by all too quickly.
The Station Master came out once or twice from
that sacred inner temple behind the place w T here
the hole is that they sell you tickets through, and
was most jolly with them all.
“Just as if coal had never been discovered,”
Phyllis whispered to her sister.
60
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
He gave them each an orange, and promised to
take them up into the signal-box one of these days
when he wasn’t so busy.
Several trains went through the station, and
Peter noticed for the first time that engines have
numbers on them, like cabs.
“ Yes,” said the Porter, « I knowed a young gent
as used to take down the numbers of every single
one he seed, in a green note-book with silver cor-
ners it was, owing to his Father being very well to
do in the wholesale stationary.”
Peter felt that he could take down numbers,
too, even if he was not the son of a wholesale
stationer. As he did not happen to have a green
leather note-book with silver corners, the Porter
gave him a yellow envelope and on it he noted : —
379
663
and felt that this was the beginning of what would
be a most interesting collection.
That night at tea he #sked Mother if she had a
green leather note-book with silver corners. She
had not ; but when she heard what he wanted it
for she gave him a little black one.
“ It has a few pages torn out,” said she ; “but it
will hold quite a lot of numbers, and when it’s full
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
61
I’ll give you another. I’m so glad you like the
railway. Only, please, you mustn’t walk on the
line.”
“ Not if we face the way the train’s coming ? ”
asked Peter, after a gloomy pause, in which glances
of despair were exchanged.
“ No — really not,” said Mother.
Then Phyllis said, “ Mother, didn’t you ever walk
on the railway lines when you were little ? ”
Mother was an honest and honourable Mother,
so she had to say, “ Yes.”
“Well, then,” said Phyllis.
“ But, darlings, you don’t know how fond I am
of you. What should I do if you got hurt ? ”
“ Are you fonder of us than Granny was of you
when you were little ? ” Phyllis asked. Bobbie
made signs to her to stop, but Phyllis never did
see signs, no matter how plain they might be.
Mother did not answer for a minute. She got
up to put more water in the teapot.
“No one,” she said at last, “ ever loved any one
more than my Mother loved me.”
Then she was quiet again, and Roberta kicked
Phyllis hard under the table, because Roberta
understood a little bit the thoughts that were mak-
ing Mother so quiet — the thoughts of the time
62
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
when Mother was a little girl and was all the world
to her Mother. It seems so easy and natural to run
to Mother when one is in trouble. Bobbie under-
stood a little how people do not leave off running
to their Mothers when they are in trouble even
when they are grown up, and she thought she
knew a little what it must be to be sad, and have
no Mother to run to any more.
So she kicked Phyllis who said : —
“ What are you kicking me like that for, Bob ? ”
And then Mother laughed a little and sighed and
said : —
“Very well, then. Only let me be sure you do
know which way the trains come — and don’t walk
on the line near the tunnel or near corners.”
“Trains keep to the left like carriages,” said
Peter, « so if we keep to the right, we’re bound to
see them coming.”
“Very well,” said Mother, and I dare say you
think that she ought not to have said it. But she
remembered about when she was a little girl her-
self, and she did say it, — and neither her own
children nor you nor any other children in the
world could ever understand exactly what it cost
her to do it. Only some few of you, like Bobbie,
may understand a very little bit.
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
63
It was the very next day that Mother had to
stay in bed because her head ached so. Her hands
were burning hot, and she would not eat anything,
and her throat was very sore.
“ If I was you, Mum,” said Mrs. Viney, “ I should
take and send for the doctor. There’s a lot of
catchy complaints a-going about just now. My
sister’s eldest — she took a chill and it went to her
inside, two year ago come Christmas, and she’s
never been the same gell since.”
Mother wouldn’t at first, but in the evening she
felt so much worse that Peter was sent to the
house in the village that had three laburnum trees
by the gate, and on the gate a brass plate with
W. W. Forrest, M.D., on it.
W. W. Forrest, M.D., came at once. He talked
to Peter on the way back. He seemed a most
charming and sensible man, interested in railways,
and rabbits, and really important things.
When he had seen Mother, he said it was in
fluenza.
“ Now, Lady Grave-airs,” he said in the hall to
Roberta. “ I suppose you’ll want to be head
nurse.”
“ Of course,” said she.
“Well, then, I’ll send down some medicine.
64
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Keep up a good fire. Have some strong beef tea
made ready to give her as soon as the fever goes
down. She can have grapes now, and Brand’s
Beef Essence — and soda water and milk, and
you’d better get in a bottle of brandy. The best
brandy. Cheap brandy is worse than poison.”
She asked him to write it all down, and he
did.
When Bobbie shewed Mother the list he had
written, Mother laughed. It was a laugh, Bobbie
decided, though it was rather odd and feeble.
“ Nonsense,” said Mother, lying in bed with eyes
as bright as beads, “ I can’t afford all that rubbish.
Tell Mrs. Viney to boil two pounds of Scrag end
of the neck for your dinners to-morrow, and I can
have some of the broth. Yes, I should like some
more water now, love. And will you get a basin
and sponge my hands ? ”
Roberta obeyed. When she had done everything
she could to make Mother less uncomfortable, she
went down to the others. Her cheeks were very
red, her lips set tight, and her eyes almost as
bright as Mother’s.
She told them what the Doctor had said, and
what Mother had said.
“And now,” said she, when she had told all,
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
65
“ there’s no one but us to do anything, and we’ve
got to do it. I’ve got the shilling for the mutton.”
“ We can do without the beastly mutton,” said
Peter ; “ bread and butter will support life. Peo-
ple have lived on less on desert islands many a
time.”
“ Of course,” said his sister. And Mrs. Viney
was sent to the village to get as much brandy and
soda water and beef for beef tea as she could buy
for a shilling.
“ But even if we never have anything to eat
at all,” said Phyllis, “ you can’t get all those other
things with our dinner money.”
“ No,” said Roberta, frowning, « we must find
out some other way. Now think, everybody, just
as hard as ever you can.”
They did think. And presently they talked.
And later, when Bobbie had gone up to sit with
Mother in case she wanted anything, the other
two were very busy with scissors and a white
sheet, and a paint brush, and the pot of Bruns-
wick black that Mrs. Viney used for grates and
fenders. They did not manage to do what they
wished, exactly, with the first sheet, so they took
another out of the linen cupboard. It did not
occur to them that they were spoiling good sheets
66
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
which cost good money. They only knew that
they were making a good — but what they were
making comes later.
Bobbie’s bed had been moved into Mother’s
room, and several times in the night she got up
to mend the fire, and to give her Mother milk and
soda water. Mother talked to herself a good deal,
but it did not seem to mean anything. And once
she woke up suddenly and called out, “ Mamma,
mamma ! ” and Bobbie knew she was calling for
Granny, and that she had forgotten that it was
no use calling, because Granny was dead.
In the early morning Bobbie heard her name
and jumped out of bed and ran to Mother’s
bedside.
“Oh — ah, yes — I think I was asleep,” said
Mother. “ My poor little duck, how tired you’ll
be — I do hate to give you all this trouble.”
“ Trouble ! ” said Bobbie.
“ Ah, don’t cry, sweet,” Mother said ; “ I shall
be all right in a day or two.”
And Bobbie said, “ Yes,” and tried to smile.
When you are used to ten hours of solid sleep,
to get up three or four times in your sleep-time
makes you feel as though you had been up all
night. Bobbie felt quite stupid and her eyes were
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
67
sore and stiff, but she tidied the room, and
arranged everything neatly before the doctor
came.
This was at half-past eight.
“ Everything going on all right, little Nurse ? ”
he said at the front door. “ Did you get the
brandy ? ”
“ I’ve got the brandy,” said Bobbie, “ in a little
flat bottle.”
“ I didn’t see the grapes or the Brand’s Essence,
though,” said he.
“ No,” said Bobbie, firmly, “ but you will to-
morrow. And there’s some beef stewing in the
oven for beef tea.”
“Who told you to do that?” he asked.
“ I noticed what Mother did when Phil had
mumps.”
“ Right,” said the doctor. “ Now you get your
old woman to sit with your Mother, and then
you eat a good breakfast, and go straight to bed
and sleep till dinner-time. We can’t afford to
have the head nurse ill.”
He was really quite a nice doctor.
When the 9.15 came out of the tunnel that
morning the old gentleman in the first-class car-
riage put down his newspaper, and got ready to
68
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
wave his hand to the three children on the fence.
But this morning there were not three. There
was only one. And that was Peter.
Peter was not on the railings either, as usual.
He was standing in front of them in an attitude
like that of a showman showing off the animals in
a menagerie, or of the kind clergyman when he
points with a wand at the “ Scenes from Palestine,’ 5
when there is a magic lantern and he is explaining
it.
Peter was pointing, too. And what he was
pointing at was a large white sheet nailed against
the fence. On the sheet there were thick black
letters more than a foot long.
Some of them had run a little, because of Phyllis
having put the Brunswick black on too eagerly,
but the words were quite easy to read.
And this was what the old gentleman and
several other people in the train read in the large
black letters on the white sheet : —
LOOK OUT AT THE STATION
A good many people did look out at the station
and were disappointed, for they saw nothing un-
usual. The old gentleman looked out, too, and at
first he too saw nothing more unusual than the
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
69
gravelled platform and the sunshine and the wall-
flowers and forget-me-nots in the station borders.
It was only just as the train was beginning to puff
and pull itself together to start again that he saw
Phyllis. She was quite out of breath with running.
“ Oh,” she said, “ I thought I’d missed you.
My bootlaces would keep coming down and I fell
over them twice. Here, take it.”
She thrust a warm dampish letter into his hand
as the train moved.
He leaned back in his corner and opened the
letter. This is what he read : —
“ Dear Mr. We do not know your name.
“ Mother is ill and the doctor says to give her
the things at the end of the letter but she says she
can’t aford it and to get mutton for us and she will
have the broth. We don’t know anybody here
but you because Father is away and we don’t
know the address. Father will pay you, or if he
has lost all his money, or anything, Peter will pay
you when he is a man. We promise it on our
honer. I. O. U. for all the things Mother wants
“ sined Peter.
“Will you give the parsel to the Station Mas-
ter, because of us not knowing what train you
70
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
come down by. Say it is for Peter that was sorry
about the coals and he will know all right.
“ Roberta.
“ Phyllis.
“ Peter.”
Then came the list of things the doctor had
ordered.
The old gentleman read it through once, and his
eyebrows went up. He read it twice and smiled
a little. When he had read it thrice, he put it in
his pocket and went on reading the Times.
At about six that evening there was a knock at
the back door. The three children rushed to open
it, and there stood the friendly Porter, who had
told them so many interesting things about rail-
ways. He dumped down a big hamper on the
kitchen flags.
“ Old gent,” he said ; “ he asked me to fetch it
up straight away.”
“ Thank you very much,” said Peter, and then,
as the Porter lingered, he added : —
“ Pm most awfully sorry I haven’t got twopence
to give you like Father does, but — ”
“ You drop it if you please, Sir,” said the Porter,
indignantly. “ I wasn’t thinking about no tup-
pences. I only wanted to say I was sorry your
THE OLD GENTLEMAN
71
Mamma wasn’t so well, and to ask how she
finds herself this evening, — and I’ve fetched her
along a bit of sweetbrier, very sweet to smell
it is. Twopence indeed,” said he, and produced
a bunch of sweetbrier from his hat, “ just like
a conjurer,” as Phyllis remarked afterwards.
“ Thank you very much,” said Peter, “ and I
beg your pardon about the twopence.”
“No offence,” said the porter, untruly, but po-
litely, and went.
Then the children undid the hamper. First
there was straw, and then there were fine shavings,
and then came all the things they had asked for,
and plenty of them, and then a good many things
they had not asked for ; among others peaches and
port wine and two chickens, a cardboard box of
big red roses with long stalks, and a tall thin green
bottle of lavender water, and three smaller fatter
bottles of eau-de-Cologne. There was a letter, too.
“ Dear Roberta and Phyllis and Peter,” it said ;
“here are the things you want. Your mother will
want to know where they came from. Tell her
they were sent by a friend who heard she was ill.
When she is well again you must tell her all about
it, of course. And if she says you ought not to
have asked for the things, tell her that I say you
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
were quite right, and that I hope she will forgive
me for taking the liberty of allowing myself a very
great pleasure.”
The letter was signed G. P. something that the
children couldn’t read.
“ I think we were right,” said Phyllis.
“ Right ? Of course we were right,” said
Bobbie.
“ All the same,” said Peter, with his hands in his
pockets, “I don’t exactly look forward to telling
Mother the whole truth about it.”
“ We’re not to do it till she’s well,” said Bobbie,
“ and when she’s well we shall be so happy we
shan’t mind a little fuss like that. Oh, just look
at the roses ! I must take them up to her.”
“ And the sweetbrier,” said Phyllis, sniffing it
loudly ; “ don’t forget the sweetbrier.”
“ As if I should ! ” said Roberta. “ Mother told
me the other day there was a thick hedge of it in
her Mother’s house when she was a little girl.”
CHAPTER IV
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
What was left of the second sheet and the
Brunswick black came in very nicely to make a
banner bearing the legend
SHE IS NEARLY WELL THANK YOU
and this was displayed to the Green Dragon about
a fortnight after the arrival of the wonderful
hamper. The old gentleman saw it, and waved a
cheerful response from the train. And when this
had been done every one saw that now was the
time when they must tell Mother what they had
done when she was ill. And it did not seem
nearty so easy as they had thought it would be.
But it had to be done. And it was done. Mother
was extremely angry. She was very seldom
angry, and now she was angrier than they had ever
known her. This was horrible. But it was much
worse when she suddenly began to cry. Crying is
catching, I believe, like measles and whooping
cough. At any rate, every one at once found itself
taking part in a crying party.
73
74
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Mother stopped first. She dried her eyes and
then she said : —
“ I’m sorry I was so angry, darlings, because I
know you didn’t understand.”
“We * didn’t mean to be naughty, Mammy,”
sobbed Bobbie, and Peter and Phyllis sniffed.
“ Now, listen,” said Mother ; “ it’s quite true
that we’re poor, but we have enough to live on.
You mustn’t go telling every one about our affairs
— it’s not right. And you must never, never,
never ask strangers to give you things. Now
always remember that — won’t you ? ”
They all hugged her and rubbed their damp
cheeks against hers and promised that they would.
“ And I’ll write a letter to your old gentleman,
and I shall tell him that I didn’t approve — oh, of
course I shall thank him, too, for his kindness. It’s
you I don’t approve of, my darlings, not the old
gentleman. He was as kind as ever he could be.
And you can give the letter to the Station Master
to give him, — and we won’t say any more about
it.”
Afterward when the children were alone, Bobbie
said : —
“ Isn’t Mother splendid ? You catch any other
grown-up saying it was sorry it had been angry.”
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
75
“ Yes,” said Peter, “ she is splendid ; but it’s
rather awful when she’s angry.”
“ She’s like Avenging and Bright in the song,”
said Phyllis. “ I should like to look at her if it
wasn’t so awful. She looks so beautiful when
she’s really downright furious.”
They took the letter down to the Station Master.
“ I thought you said you hadn’t got any friends
except in London,” said he.
“ We’ve made him since,” said Peter.
“ But he doesn’t live hereabouts ? ”
“ No — we just know him on the railway.”
Then the Station Master retired to that sacred
inner temple behind the little window where the
tickets are sold, and the children went down to the
Porter’s room and talked to the Porter. They
learned several interesting things from him, — among
others that his name was Perks, that he was
married and had three children, that the lamps in
front of engines are called head-lights and the ones
at the back tail-lights.
“ And that just shews,” whispered Phyllis, “ that
trains really are dragons in disguise, with proper
heads and tails.”
It was on this day that the children first noticed
that all engines are not alike.
76
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“Alike ? ” said the Porter, whose name was Perks,
“ lor love you, no, Miss. No more alike nor what
you an’ me are. That little un without a tender
as went by just now all on her own, that was a
tank, that was — she’s off to do some shunting
t’ other side o’ Maidbridge. That’s as it might be
you, Miss. Then there’s good engines, great,
strong things with three wheels each side — joined
with rods to strengthen ’em — as it might be me.
Then there’s mainline engines as it might be this
’ere young gentleman when he grows up and wins
all the races at ’is school — so he will. The main-
line engine she’s built for speed as well as power.
That’s one to the 9.15 up.”
“ The Green Dragon,” said Phyllis.
“We calls her the snail, Miss, among ourselves,”
said the Porter. « She’s oftener be’indand nor any
train on the line.”
“ But the engine’s green,” said Phyllis.
“ Yes, Miss,” said Perks, “ so’s a snail some
seasons of the year.”
The children agreed as they went home to din-
ner that the Porter was most delightful company.
Next day was Roberta’s birthday. In the after-
noon she was politely but firmly requested to get
out of the way and keep there till tea-time.
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
77
“You aren’t to see what we’re going to do till
it’s done ; it’s a glorious surprise,” said Phyllis.
And Roberta went out into the garden all alone.
She tried to be grateful, but she felt she would
much rather have helped in whatever it was than
have to spend her birthday afternoon by herself, no
matter how glorious the surprise might be.
Now that she was alone, she had time to think,
and one of the things she thought of most was
what mother had said in one of those feverish
nights when her hands were so hot and her eyes
so bright.
The words were, “Oh, what a doctor’s bill
there’ll be for this ! ”
She walked round and round the garden among
the rose-bushes that hadn’t any roses yet, only
buds, and the lilac bushes and syringas and Ameri-
can currants, and the more she thought of the
doctor’s bill, the less she liked the thought of it.
And presently she made up her mind. She
went out through the side door of the garden and
climbed up the steep field to where the road runs
along by the canal. She walked along until she
came to the bridge that crosses the canal and leads
to the village, and here she waited. It was very
pleasant in the sunshine to lean one’s elbows on
78
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
the warm stone of the bridge and look down at
the blue water of the canal. Bobbie had never
seen any other canal, except the Regent’s canal,
and the water of that is not at all a pretty colour.
And she had never seen any river at all except the
Thames, which also would be all the better if its
face were washed.
Perhaps the children would have loved the canal
as much as the railway, but for two things. One
was that they had found the railway first — on
that first, wonderful morning when the house and
the country and the moors and rocks and great
hills were all new to them. They had not found
the canal till some days later. The other reason
was that every one on the railway had been kind to
them — the Station Master, the Porter, and the old
gentleman who waved. And the people on the
canal were anything but kind.
The people on the canal were, of course, the
bargees who steered the slow barges up and down,
or walked beside the old horses that trampled up
the mud of the towing-path, and strained at the
long tow-ropes.
Peter had once asked one of the bargees the
time, and had been told to “ get out of that,” in a
tone so fierce that he did not stop to say anything
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
79
about his having just as much right on the towing-
path as the man himself. Indeed, he did not even
think of saying it till some time later.
^ Then another day when the children thought
they would like to fish in the canal, a boy in a
barge threw lumps of coal at them, and one of
these hit Phyllis on the back of the neck. She
was just stooping down to tie up her bootlace, —
and though the coal hardly hurt at all it made her
not care very much about going on fishing.
On the bridge, however, Roberta felt quite safe,
because she could look down on the canal, and if
any boy shewed signs of meaning to throw coals,
she could duck behind the parapet.
Presently there was a sound of wheels, which
was just what she expected.
The wheels were the wheels of the Doctor’s dog-
cart, and in the cart, of course, was the Doctor.
He pulled up, and called out : —
“ Hullo, head Nurse ! Want a lift ? ”
“ I wanted to see you,” said Bobbie.
“ Our Russian friend’s not worse, I hope ? ” said
he.
“ No — but — ”
“ Well, skip in, then, and we’ll go for a drive.”
Roberta climbed in and the bony brown horse
80
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
was made to turn round — which it did not like at
all, for it was looking forward to its tea — I mean
its oats.
“ This is jolly,” said Bobbie, as the dog-cart flew
along the road by the canal.
“We could throw a stone down any one of your
three chimneys,” said the Doctor, as they passed
the house.
“Yes,” said Bobbie, “but you’d have to be a
jolly good shot.”
“ How do you know I’m not ? ” said the Doctor.
“Now, then, what’s the trouble?”
Bobbie fidgeted with the hook of the driving
apron.
“ Come, out with it,” said the Doctor.
“ It’s rather hard, you see,” said Bobbie, “ to out
with it ; because of what Mother said.”
“ What did Mother say ? ”
“ She said I wasn’t to go telling every one that
we’re poor. But you aren’t every one, are you ? ”
“ Not at all,” said the Doctor, cheerfully.
“ Well ? ”
“ W ell, I know doctors are very extravagant —
I mean expensive, and Mrs. Viney told me that
her doctoring only cost her twopence a week
because she belonged to a Club.”
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
81
“ Yes ? ”
“You see she told me what a good doctor you
were, and I asked her how she could afford you,
because she’s much poorer than we are. I’ve been
in her house and I know. And then she told me
about the Club, and I thought I’d ask you — and
— oh, I don’t want Mother to be worried ! Can’t
we be Club, too, the same as Mrs. Yiney ? ”
The Doctor was silent. He was rather poor him-
self, and he had been rather pleased at getting a
new family to attend. So I think his feelings at
that minute were rather mixed.
“ You aren’t cross with me, are you ? ” said
Bobbie, in a very small voice.
The Doctor roused himself.
“ Cross ? How could I be ? You’re a very
sensible little woman. Now look here, don’t you
worry. I’ll make it all right with your Mother,
even if I have to make a special brand-new Club all
for her. Look here, this is where the Aqueduct
begins.”
“ What’s an Aque — what’s its name ? ” asked
Bobbie.
“A water bridge,” said the Doctor. “Look.”
The road rose to a bridge over the canal. To
the left was a steep rocky cliff with trees and
82
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
shrubs growing in the cracks of the rock. And
the canal here left off running along the top of the
hill and started to run on a bridge of its own — a
great bridge with tall arches that went right across
the valley.
Bobbie drew a long breath.
“ It is grand, isn’t it ? ” she said. “ It’s like pic-
tures in the History of Rome.”
“ Right ! ” said the Doctor, “ that’s just exactly
what it is like. The Romans were dead nuts on
aqueducts. It’s a splendid piece of engineering.”
“ I thought engineering was making engines.”
“Ah, there are different sorts of engineering —
making roads and bridges and tunnels is one kind.
And making fortifications is another. Well, we
must be turning back. And, remember, you aren’t
to worry about doctor’s bills or you’ll be ill your-
self, and then I’ll send you in a bill as long as the
aqueduct.”
When Bobbie had parted from the Doctor at the
top of the field that ran down from the road to
Three Chimneys, she could not feel that she had
done wrong. She knew that Mother would per-
haps think differently. But Bobbie felt that for
once she was the one who was right, and she
scrambled dowm the rocky slope with a really
happy feeling.
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
83
Phyllis and Peter met her at the back door.
They were unnaturally clean and neat, and Phyllis
had a blue bow in her hair. There was only just
time for Bobbie to make herself tidy and tie up
her hair with a red bow before a little bell rang.
“ There ! ” said Phyllis, “ that’s to shew the
surprise is ready. Now you wait till the bell rings
again and then you may come into the dining room.”
So Bobbie waited.
“ Tinkle, tinkle,” said the little bell, and Bobbie
went into the dining room, feeling rather shy.
Directly she opened the door she found herself as
it seemed in a new world of light and flowers and
singing. Mother and Peter and Phyllis were stand-
ing in a row at the end of the table. The shutters
were shut and there were twelve candles on the
table, one for each of Roberta’s years. The table
was covered with a sort of pattern of flowers, and
at Roberta’s place was a thick wreath of forget-
me-nots and several most interesting little pack-
ages. And Mother and Phyllis and Peter were
singing — to the first part of the tune of St. Pat-
rick’s day. Roberta knew that Mother had writ-
ten the words on purpose for her birthday. It
was a little way of Mother’s on birthdays. It had
begun on Bobbie’s fourth birthday when Phyllis
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
was a baby. Bobbie remembered learning the
verses to say to Father “ for a surprise.” She
wondered if Mother remembered, too. The four-
year-old verse had been : —
Daddy dear, Fin only four
And Fd rather not be more.
Four’s the nicest age to be
Two and two and one and three.
What I love is two and two,
= Mother, Peter, Phil, and you.
What you love is one and three,
Mother, Peter, Phil, and me.
Give your little girl a kiss
Because she learned and told you this.
The song the others were singing now went like
this : —
Our darling Roberta
No sorrow shall hurt her
If we can prevent it
Her whole life long.
Her birthday’s our fete day
We’ll make it our great day,
And give her our presents
And sing her our song.
May pleasures attend her
And may the Fates send her
The happiest journey
Along her life’s way.
With skies bright above her
And dear ones to love her !
Dear Bob ! Many happy
Returns of the day !
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
85
When they had finished singing they cried,
“ Three cheers for our Bobbie ! ” and gave them
very loudly. Bobbie felt exactly as though she
were going to cry — you know that odd feeling in
the bridge of your nose and the pricking in your
eyelids ? But before she had time to begin they
were all kissing and hugging her.
“ Now,” said Mother, “ look at your presents.”
They were very nice presents. There was a
green and red needle-book that Phyllis had made
herself in secret moments. There was a darling
little silver brooch of Mother’s shaped like a butter-
cup, which Bobbie had known and loved for years,
but which she had never never thought would come
to be her very own. There was also a pair of blue
glass vases from Mrs. Viney. Roberta had seen
and admired them in the village shop. And there
were three birthday cards with pretty pictures and
wishes.
Mother fitted the forget-me-not crown on Bob-
bie’s brown head.
“ And now look at the table,” she said.
There was a cake on the table covered with
white sugar, with “ Dear Bobbie ” on it in pink
sweets, and there were buns and jam ; but the
nicest thing was that the big table was almost
86
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
covered with flowers — wallflowers were laid all
round the tea-tray — there was a ring of forget-
me-nots round each plate. The cake had a wreath
of white lilac round it, and in the middle was some-
thing that looked like a pattern all done with
single blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum.
“ What is it ? ” asked Roberta.
“ It’s a map — a map of the railway ! ” cried
Peter. “ Look — those lilac lines are the metals,
— and there’s the station done in brown wall-
flowers. The laburnum is the train, and there are
the signal boxes, and the road up to here — and
those fat red daisies are us three waving to the old
gentleman — that’s him, the pansy in the laburnum
train.”
“ And there’s < Three Chimneys ’ done in the
purple primroses,” said Phyllis. “ And that little
tiny rose-bud is Mother looking out for us when
we’re late for tea. Peter invented it all, and we
got all the flowers from the station. We thought
you’d like it better.”
“ That’s my present,” said Peter, suddenly dump-
ing down his adored steam-engine on the table in
front of her. Its tender had been lined with fresh
white paper, and was full of sweets.
“ Oh, Peter,” cried Bobbie, quite overcome by
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR 87
this munificence, “ not your own dear little engine
that you’re so fond of ? ”
“ Oh, no,” said Peter, very promptly, “ not the
engine. Only the sweets.”
Bobbie couldn’t help her face changing a little
— not so much because she was disappointed at
not getting the engine, as because she had thought
it so very noble of Peter, and now she felt she
had been silly to think it. Also she felt she must
have seemed greedy to expect the engine as well as
the sweets. So her face changed. Peter saw it.
He hesitated a minute ; then his face changed, too,
and he said : “ I mean not all the engine. I’ll let
you go halves if you like.”
“ You’re a darling,” cried Bobbie; “ it’s a splen-
did present.” She said no more aloud, but to
herself she said : —
“ That was awfully jolly decent of Peter because
I know he didn’t mean to. Well, the broken half
shall be my half of the engine, and I’ll get it
mended and give it back to Peter for his birthday.”
— “ Yes, Mother dear, I should like to cut the cake,”
she added, and tea began.
It was a delightful birthday. After tea Mother
played games with them — any game they liked
— and of course their first choice was blind-
88
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
man’s-buff, in the course of which Bobbie’s for-
get-me-not wreath twisted itself crookedly over
one of her ears and stayed there. Then when
it was near bed-time and time to calm down,
Mother had a lovely new story to read to them.
“You won’t sit up late working, will you,
Mother?” Bobbie asked as they said good night.
And Mother said, No, she wouldn’t — she
w T ould only just write to Father and then go to
bed.
But when Bobbie crept down a little later to
bring up her presents, — for she felt she really
could not be separated from them all night, —
Mother was not writing, but leaning her head
on her arms and her arms on the table. I
think it was rather good of Bobbie to slip
quietly away, saying over and over, “ She
doesn’t want me to know she’s unhappy, and I
won’t know; I won’t know.” But it made a
sad end to the birthday.
**######
The very next morning Bobbie began to watch her
opportunity to secretly get Peter’s engine mended.
And the opportunity came the very next afternoon.
Mother went by train to the nearest town to
do shopping. When she went there, she always
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
89
went to the Post-office. Perhaps to post her
letters to Father, for she never gave them to
the children or Mrs. Viney to post, and she
never went to the village herself. Peter and
Phyllis went with her. Bobbie wanted an
excuse not to go, but try as she would she
couldn’t think of a good one. And just when
she felt that all was lost, her frock caught on a
big nail by the kitchen door and there was a
great criss-cross tear all along the front of the
skirt. I assure you this was really an accident.
So the others pitied her and went without her,
for there was no time for her to change, be-
cause they were rather late already and had to
hurry to the station to catch the train.
When they had gone, Bobbie put on her every-
day frock, and went down to the railway. She
did not go into the station, but she went along
the line to the end of the platform where the
engine is when the down train is alongside the
platform — the place where there is a water
tank and a long, limp, leather hose, like an ele-
phant’s trunk. She hid behind a bush on the
other side of the railway. She had the toy
engine done up in brown paper, and she waited
patiently with it under her arm.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Then when the next train came in and
stopped, Bobbie went across the metals of the
up-line and stood beside the engine. She had
never been so close to an engine before. It
looked much larger and harder than she had
expected, and it made her feel very small indeed,
and, somehow, very soft — as if she could very
very easily be hurt rather badly.
“ I know what silk-worms feel like now,”
said Bobbie to herself.
The engine-driver and fireman did not see
her. They were leaning out on the other side,
telling the Porter a tale about a dog and a leg
of mutton.
“If you please,” said Roberta, — but the en-
gine was blowing off steam and no one heard
her.
“ If you please, Mr. Engineer,” she spoke a
little louder, but the Engine happened to speak
at the same moment, and of course Roberta’s
soft little voice hadn’t a chance.
It seemed to her that the only way would
be to climb on to the engine and pull at
their coats. The step was high, but she got her
knee on it, and clambered into the cab ; she
stumbled and fell on hands and knees on the
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
91
base of the great heap of coals that led up to
the square opening in the tender. The engine
was not above the weaknesses of its fellows ;
it was making a great deal more noise than
there was the slightest need for. And just as
Roberta fell on the coals, the engine-driver, who
had turned without seeing her, started the en-
gine, and when Bobbie had picked herself up,
the train was moving — not fast, but much too
fast for her to get off.
All sorts of dreadful thoughts came to her all
together in one horrible flash. There were such
things as express trains that went on, she sup-
posed, for hundreds of miles without stopping.
Suppose this should be one of them ? How would
she go home again? She had no money to pay
for the return journey.
“ And I’ve no business here. I’m an engine-
burglar — that’s what I am,” she thought. “ I
shouldn’t wonder if they could lock me up for
this.” And the train was going faster and faster.
There was something in her throat that made
it impossible for her to speak. She tried twice.
The men had their backs to her. They were doing
something to things that looked like taps.
Suddenly she put out her hand and caught hold
92
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
of the nearest sleeve. The man turned with a
start, and he and Roberta stood for a minute
looking at each other in silence. Then the silence
was broken by them both.
The man said, “ Here’s a bloomin’ go ! ” and
Roberta burst into tears.
The other man said he was blooming well blest,
— or something like it, — but though naturally
surprised they were not exactly unkind.
“ You’re a naughty little gell, that’s what you
are,” said the fireman, and the engine-driver
said : —
“ Daring little piece, I call her,” but they made
her sit down on an iron seat in the cab and told
her to stop crying and tell them what she meant
by it, directly minute.
She did stop, as soon as she could. One thing
hat helped her was the thought that Peter would
give almost his ears to be in her place — on a rea
engine — really going. The children had often
wondered whether any engine-driver could be
found noble enough to take them for a ride on an
engine, — and now there she was. She dried
her eyes and sniffed earnestly.
“Now, then,” said the fireman, “out with it.
What do you mean by it, eh ? ”
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
93
“ Oh, please,’ 5 sniffed Bobbie, and stopped.
“ Try again,” said the engine-driver, encourag-
ingly.
Bobbie tried again.
“ Please, Mr. Engineer,” she said, « I did call
out to you from the line, but you didn’t hear me
— and I just climbed up to touch you on the arm
— quite gently I meant to do it — and then I fell
into the coals — and I am so sorry if I frightened
you. Oh, don’t be cross — oh, please don’t ! ”
She sniffed again.
“We ain’t so much cross” said the fireman,
“ as interred like. It ain’t every day a little
gell tumbles into our coak bunker outer the
sky, is it, Bill ? What did you do it for —
eh?”
“ That’s the pint,” agreed the engine-driver ;
“ what did you do it for f ”
Bobbie found that she had not quite stopped
crying. The engine-driver patted her on the back
and said: “Here, cheer up, Mate. It ain’t so bad
as all that ’ere, I’ll be bound.”
“ I wanted,” said Bobbie, much cheered to find
herself addressed as “ Mate,” — “I only wanted to
ask you if you’d be so kind as to mend this.” She
picked up the brown paper parcel from among the
94
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
coals and undid the string with hot, red fingers
that trembled.
Her feet and legs felt the scorch of the engine
fire, but her shoulders felt the wild chill rush of
the air. The engine lurched and shook and
rattled, and as they shot under a bridge the
engine seemed to shout in her ears.
The fireman shovelled on coals.
Bobbie unrolled the brown paper and disclosed
the toy engine.
“ I thought,” she said wistfully, “ that perhaps
you’d mend this for me — because you’re an
engineer, you know.”
The engine-driver said he was blowed if he
wasn’t blest.
“ I’m blest if I ain’t blowed,” remarked the
fireman.
But the engine-driver took the little engine and
looked at it — and the fireman ceased for an
instant to shovel coal,. and looked too.
“ It’s like your precious cheek,” said the engine-
driver, — “ whatever made you think we’d be
bothered tinkering penny toys ? ”
“ I didn’t mean it for precious cheek,” said
Bobbie ; “ only everybody that has anything to do
with railways is so kind and good, I didn’t think
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
95
you’d mind. You don’t really — do you?” she
added, for she had seen a not unkindly wink pass
between the two.
“My trade’s driving of a engine, not mending
her — especially such a hout-size in engines as this
here,” said Bill. “ An’ ’ow are we a-goin’ to get
you back to your sorrowing friends and relations,
and all be forgiven and forgotten ? ”
“ If you’ll put me down next time you stop,”
said Bobbie, firmly, though her heart beat fiercely
against her arm as she clasped her hands, “ and
lend me the money for a third-class ticket, I’ll pay
you back — honor bright. I’m not a confidence
trick like in the newspapers — really I’m not.”
“ You’re a little lad}^ every inch,” said Bill,
relenting suddenly and completely. “ We’ll see
you gets home safe. An’ about this engine —
Jim — ain’t you got ne’er a pal as can use a
soldering iron ? Seems to me that’s about all the
little bounder wants doing to it.”
“That’s what Father said,” Bobbie explained
eagerly. “ What’s that for ? ”
She pointed to a little brass wheel that he had
turned as he spoke.
“ That’s the injector.”
“ In — what ? ”
96
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Injector to fill up the boiler.”
“ Oh,” said Bobbie, mentally registering the fact
to tell the others ; “ that is interesting.”
“ This ’ere’s the automatic brake,” Bill went on,
flattered by her enthusiasm. “You just move
this ’ere little handle — do it with one finger, you
can — and the train jolly soon stops. That’s what
they call the Power of Science in the newspapers.”
He shewed her two little dials, like clock faces,
and told her how one shewed how much steam
was going, and the other shewed if the brake was
working properly.
By the time she had seen him shut off steam
with a big shining steel handle, Bobbie knew
more about the inside working of an engine than
she had ever thought there was to know, and
Jim had promised that his second cousin’s wife’s
brother should solder the toy engine, or Jim would
know the reason why. Besides all the knowledge
she had gained Bobbie felt that she and Bill and
Jim were now friends for life, and that they had
wholly and forever forgiven her for stumbling
uninvited among the sacred coals of their tender.
At Stacklepoole Junction she parted from them
with warm expressions of mutual regard. They
handed her over to the guard of a returning
THE ENGINE-BURGLAR
97
train — a friend of theirs — and she had the joy
of knowing what guards do in their secret fast-
nesses, and understood how, when you pull the
handle in railway carriages, properly or improp-
erly, a wheel goes round under the guard’s nose
and a loud bell rings in his ears. She asked the
guard why his van smelt so fishy, and learned that
he had to carry a lot of fish every day, and that
the wetness in the hollows of the corrugated floor
had all drained out of boxes full of plaice and cod
and mackerel and soles and smelts.
Bobbie got home in time for tea, and she felt
as though her mind would burst with all that had
been put into it since she parted from the others.
How she blessed the nail that had torn her frock !
“ Where have you been ? ” asked the others.
“ To the station, of course,” said Roberta. But
she would not tell a word of her adventures till
the day appointed, when she mysteriously led them
to the station at the hour of the 3.19’s transit, and
proudly introduced them to her friends, Bill and
Jim — Jim’s second cousin’s wife’s brother had not
been unworthy of the sacred trust reposed in him.
The toy engine was, literally, as good as new.
“ Good-by — oh, good-by,” said Bobbie, just
before the engine screamed it’s good-by. “ I
H
98
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
shall always always love you — and Jim’s second
cousin’s wife’s brother as well ! ”
And as the three children went home up the
hill, Peter hugging the engine, now quite its own
man again, Bobbie told, with joyous leaps of the
heart, the story of how she had been an Engine-
burglar.
CHAPTER V
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
It was one day when Mother had gone to Maid-
bridge. She had gone alone, but the children
were to go to the station to meet her. And, lov-
ing the station as they did, it was only natural
that they should be there a good hour before there
was any chance of Mother’s train arriving, even if
the train were punctual, which was most unlikely.
No doubt they would have been just as early, even
if it had been a fine day, and all the delights of
woods and fields and rocks and rivers had been
open to them. But it happened to be a very wet
day and, for July, very cold. There was a wild
wind that drove flocks of dark purple clouds across
the' sky “like herds of dream-elephants,” as Phyllis
said. And the rain stung sharply, so that the way
to the station was finished at a run. Then the
rain fell faster and harder, and beat slantwise
against the windows of the booking office and of
the chill place that has General Waiting Room on
its door.
99
100
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ It’s like being in a besieged castle,” Phyllis
idas; “look at the arrows of the foe striking
against the battlements ! ”
“ It’s much more like a grand garden-squirt,”
said Peter.
They decided to wait on the up side, for the down
platform looked very wet indeed, and the rain was
driving right into the little bleak shelter where
down passengers have to wait for their trains.
The hour would be full of incident and of inter-
est, for there would be two up trains, and one
down to look at before the one that should bring
Mother back.
“ Perhaps it’ll have stopped raining by then,”
said Bobbie ; “ anyhow, Pm glad I brought Mother’s
waterproof and umbrella.”
They went into the desert spot labelled General
Waiting Room, and the time passed pleasantly
enough in a game of advertisements. You know
the game, of course ? It is something like dumb
Crambo. The players take it in turns to go out,
and then come back and look as like some adver-
tisment as they can, and the others have to guess
what advertisement it is meant to be. Bobbie
came in and sat down under Mother’s umbrella
and made a sharp face, and every one knew she
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
101
was the fox who sits under the umbrella in the
advertisement. Phyllis tried to make a Magic
Carpet of Mother’s waterproof, but it would not
stand out stiff and raft-like as a Magic Carpet
should, and nobody could guess it. Every one
thought Peter was carrying things a little too far
when he blacked his face all over with coal-dust
and struck a spidery attitude and said he was the
blot that advertises somebody’s Blue Black Writ-
ing Fluid.
It was Phyllis’s turn again, and she was trying
to look like the Sphinx that advertises What’s-his-
name’s Personally Conducted Tours up the Nile
when the sharp ting of the signal announced the
up train. The children rushed out to see it pass.
On its engine were the particular driver and fire-
man who were now numbered among the chil-
dren’s dearest friends. Courtesies passed between
them. Jim asked after the toy engine, and Bobbie
pressed on his acceptance a moist greasy package
of toffee that she had made herself.
Charmed by this attention, the engine-driver
consented to consider her request that some day
he would take Peter for a ride on the engine.
“ Stand back, Mates,” cried the engine-driver-
suddenly, “and horf she goes.”
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
And sure enough, off the train went. The chil-
dren watched the tail-lights of the train till it
disappeared round the curve of the line, and then
turned to go back to the dusty freedom of the
General Waiting Room and the joys of the adver’
tisement game.
They expected to see just one or two people, the
end of the procession of passengers who had given
up their tickets and gone away. Instead, the plat-
form round the door of the station had a dark
blot round it, and the dark blot was a crowd of
people.
“Oh!” cried Peter, with a thrill of joyous
excitement, “ something’s happened ! Come on ! ”
They ran down the platform. When they got
to the crowd, they could, of course, see nothing but
the damp backs and elbows of the people on the
crowd’s outside. Everybody was talking at once.
It was evident that something had happened.
“ It’s my belief he’s nothing worse than a
natural,” said a farmerish looking person. Peter
saw his red, clean-shaven face as he spoke.
“If it was one, I should say it was a Police
Court case,” said a young man with a black
bag.
“ Not it ; the Infirmary more like — ”
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
103
Then the voice of the Station Master was heard,
firm and official : —
“Now, then — move along there. I’ll attend to
this if you please.”
But the crowd did not move. And then came
a voice that thrilled the children through and
through. For it spoke in a foreign language.
And, what is more, it was a language that they
had never heard. They had heard French spoken
and German. Aunt Emma knew German, and
used to sing a song about bedeuten and zeitm and
bin and sin. Nor was it Latin. Peter had been
in Latin for four terms.
It was some comfort, anyhow, to find that none
of the crowd understood the foreign language any
better than the children did.
“ What’s that he’s saying ? ” asked the farmer
heavily.
“ Sounds like French to me,” said the Station
Master, who had once been to Boulogne for the
day.
“ It isn’t French ! ” cried Peter.
“ What is it, then ? ” asked more than one voice.
The crowd fell back a little to see who had spoken,
and Peter pressed forward, so that when the
crowd closed up again he was in the front rank.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ I don’t know what it is,” said Peter, “ but it
isn’t French. I know that.” Then he saw what
it was that the crowd had for its centre. It
was a man — the man, Peter did not doubt, who
had spoken in that strange tongue. A man with
long hair and wild eyes, with shabby clothes of
a cut Peter had not seen before — a man whose
hands and lips trembled, and who spoke again as
his eyes fell on Peter.
« No, it’s not French,” said Peter.
“ Try him with French if you know so much
about it,” said the farmer-man.
“ Parlay voo Frongsay f ” began Peter, boldly,
and the next moment the crowd recoiled again,
for the man with the wild eyes had left leaning
against the wall, and had sprung forward and
caught Peter’s hands, and begun to pour forth
a flood of words which, though he could not
understand a word of them, Peter knew the
sound of.
“ There ! ” said he, and turned, his hands still
clasped in the hands of the strange shabby figure,
to throw a glance of triumph at the crowd ; “ there?
that's French.”
“ What does he say ? ”
“ I don’t know.” Peter was obliged to own it.
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
105
44 Here,” said the Station Master again ; 44 you
move on if you please. Pll deal with this case.”
A few of the more timid or less inquisitive
travellers moved slowly and reluctantly away.
And Phyllis and Bobbie got near to Peter. All
three had been taught French at school. How
deeply they now wished that they had learned it !
Peter shook his head at the stranger, but he also
shook his hands as warmly and looked at him as
kindly as he could. A person in the crowd, after
some hesitation, said suddenly, 44 No comprenny ! ”
and then, blushing deeply, backed out of the press
and went away.
44 Take him into your room,” whispered Bobbie
to the Station Master. 44 Mother can talk French.
She’ll be here by the next train from Maidbridge.”
The Station Master took the arm of the
stranger, suddenly but not unkindly. But the
man wrenched his arm away, and cowered back
coughing and trembling and trying to push the
Station Master away.
44 Oh, don’t ! ” said Bobbie ; 44 don’t you see how
frightened he is ? He thinks you’re going to shut
him up. I know he does, — look at his eyes ! ”
44 They’re like a fox’s eyes when the beast’s in a
trap,” said the farmer.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Oh, let me try ! ” Bobbie went on ; “I do really
know one or two French words if I could only
think of them.”
Sometimes, in moments of great need, we can
do wonderful things — things that in ordinary life
we could hardly even dream of doing. Bobbie had
never been anywhere near the top of her French
class, but she must have learned something with-
out knowing it, for now, looking at those wild,
hunted eyes, she actually made up, and what is
more, spoke, a French sentence. She said : —
“ Vous attendre . Ma mere parlez Frangais*
Nous — what’s the French for 4 being kind ’ ? ”
Nobody knew.
“ Bong is ‘ good,’ ” said Phyllis.
“ Nous etre bong pour vous 99
I do not know whether the man understood her
words, but he understood the touch of the hand
she thrust into his, and the kindness of the other
hand that stroked his shabby sleeve.
She pulled him gently towards the inmost
sanctuary of the Station Master. The other chil-
dren followed, and the Station Master shut the
door in the face of the crowd, which stood a
little while in the booking office talking and look-
ing at the fast closed yellow door, and then by
ones and twos went its way, grumbling.
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
107
Inside the Station Master’s room Bobbie still
held the stranger’s hand and stroked his sleeve.
“ Here’s a go,” said the Station Master ; “ no
ticket — doesn’t even know where he wants to go.
I’m not sure now but what I ought to send for the
police.”
“ Oh, don't ! ” all the children pleaded at once.
And suddenly Bobbie got between the others and
the stranger, for she had seen that he was crying.
By a most unusual piece of good fortune she had
a handkerchief in her pocket. By a still more un-
common accident the handkerchief was moderately
clean. Standing in front of the stranger, she got
out the handkerchief and passed it to him so that
the others did not see.
“ Wait till Mother comes,” Phyllis was saying ;
“she does speak French beautifully. You’d just
love to hear her.”
“ I’m sure he hasn’t done anything like you’re
sent to prison for,” said Peter.
“ Looks like without visible means to me,” said
the Station Master. “ Well, I don’t mind giving
him the benefit of the doubt till your Mamma
comes. I should like to know what nation’s got
the credit of him , that I should.”
Then Peter had an idea. He pulled an envelope
108
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
out of his pocket, and showed that it was half full
of foreign stamps. “ Look here,” he said, “ let’s
shew him these — ”
Bobbie looked and saw that the stranger had
dried his eyes with her handkerchief. So she said
“All right.”
They shewed him an Italian stamp, and pointed
from him to it and back again, and made signs of
question with their eyebrows. He shook his head.
Then they shewed him a Norwegian stamp — the
common blue kind it was — and again he signed
No. Then they shewed him a Spanish one, and at
that he took the envelope from Peter’s hand and
searched among the stamps with a hand that
trembled. The hand that he reached out at last,,
with a gesture as of one answering a question
contained a Russian stamp.
“ He’s Russian,” cried Peter, “ or else he’s like
6 the man who was ’ — in Kipling, you know.
Russia’s an awful place. That’s why he’s so
frightened. They do dreadful things to you there
just for nothing at all — Mother told me.”
The train from Maidbridge was signalled.
“I’ll stay with him till you bring Mother in,”
said Bobbie.
“You’re not afraid, Missie?”
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
109
“ Oh, no,” said Bobbie, looking at the stranger,
as she might have looked at a strange dog of
doubtful temper. “ You wouldn’t hurt me, would
you ? ”
She smiled at him, and he smiled back, a queer
crooked smile. And then he coughed again. And
the heavy rattling swish of the incoming train
swept past, and the Station Master and Peter and
Phyllis went out to meet it. Bobbie was still
holding the stranger’s hand when they came back
with Mother.
The Russian rose and bowed very ceremo-
niously.
Then Mother spoke in French, and he replied,
haltingly at first, but presently in longer and
longer sentences.
The children, watching his face and Mother’s,
knew that he was telling her things that made her
angry and pitying, and sorry and indignant all
at once.
“ Well, Mum, what’s it all about ? ” The Sta-
tion Master could not restrain his curiosity any
longer.
“ Oh,” said Mother, “ it’s all right. He’s a Rus-
sian, and he’s lost his ticket. And Pm afraid he’s
very ill. If you don’t mind, I’ll take him home
110
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
with me now. He’s really quite worn out, and I’ll
run down and tell you all about him to-morrow.”
“ I hope you won’t find you’re taking home a
frozen viper,” said the Station Master, doubtfully.
“ Oh, no,” Mother said brightly, and she smiled ;
“ I’m quite sure I’m not. Why, he’s a great man
in his own country, writes books — beautiful books
— I’ve read some of them; but I’ll tell you all
about it to-morrow.”
She spoke again in French to the Russian, and
every one could see the surprise and pleasure and
gratitude in his eyes. He got up and politely
bowed to the Station Master, and offered his arm
most ceremoniously to Mother. She took it, but
anybody could have seen that she was helping him
along, and not he her.
“You girls run home and light a fire in the
sitting room,” Mother said, “ and Peter had better
go for the Doctor.”
But it was Bobbie who went for the Doctor.
“ I hate to tell you,” she said breathlessly when
she came upon him in his shirt sleeves, weeding
his pansy -bed, “but Mother’s got a very shabby
Russian, and I’m sure he’ll have to belong to your
Club. I’m certain he hasn’t got any money. We
found him at the station.”
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
111
“Found him — was he lost, then ? ” asked the
Doctor, reaching for his coat.
“ Yes,” said Bobbie, unexpectedly, “ that’s just
what he was. He’s been telling Mother the sad,
sweet story of his life in French ; and she said
would you be kind enough to come directly if you
were at home. He has a dreadful cough, and he’s
been crying.”
The Doctor smiled.
“Oh, don’t,” said Bobbie; “please don’t. You
wouldn’t if you’d seen him. I never saw a man
cry before. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Dr. Forrest wished then that he hadn’t smiled.
When Bobbie and the Doctor got to Three
Chimneys, the Russian was sitting in the arm-
chair that had been Father’s, stretching his feet
to the blaze of a bright wood fire, and sipping
the tea Mother had made him.
“The man seems worn out, mind and body,’’
was what the Doctor said ; “ the cough’s bad, but
there’s nothing that can’t be cured. He ought to
go straight to bed, though — and let him have
a fire at night.”
“ I’ll make one in my room ; it’s the only one
with a fireplace,” said Mother. She did, and
presently the Doctor helped the stranger to bed.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
There was a big black trunk in Mother’s room
that none of the children had ever seen unlocked.
Now, when she had lighted the fire, she unlocked
it and took some clothes out, — men’s clothes, —
and set them to air by the newly lighted fire.
Bobbie, coming in with more wood for the fire,
saw the mark on the night-shirt, and looked over
to the open trunk. All the things she could see
were men’s clothes. And the name marked on the
shirt was Father’s name. Then Father hadn’t
taken his clothes with him. And that night-shirt
was one of Father’s new ones. Bobbie remem-
bered its being made, just before Peter’s birthday.
Why hadn’t Father taken his clothes? Bobbie
slipped from the room. As she went she heard
the key turned in the lock of the trunk. Her
heart was beating horribly. Why hadn’t Father
taken his clothes ? When Mother came out of the
room, Bobbie flung tightly clasping arms round
her waist, and whispered : —
“ Mother — Daddy isn’t — isn’t dead, is he — ”
“ My darling, no ! What made you think of
anything so horrible ? ”
“ I — I don’t know, ” said Bobbie, angry with
herself, but still clinging to that resolution of hers,
not to see anything that Mother didn’t mean her
to see.
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
113
Mother gave her a hurried hug. “ Daddy was
quite, quite well when I heard from him last,”
she said, “and he’ll come back to us some day.
Don’t fancy such horrible things, darling ! ”
Later on, when the Russian Stranger had been
made comfortable for the night, Mother came into
the girls’ room. She was to sleep there in
Phyllis’s bed, and Phyllis was to have a mattress
on the floor, a most amusing adventure for Phyllis.
Directly Mother came in, two white figures started
up, and two eager voices called : —
“ Now, Mother, tell us all about the Russian
gentleman.”
A white shape hopped into the room. It was
Peter, dragging his quilt behind him like the tail
of a white peacock.
“We have been patient,” he said, “and I had
to bite my tongue not to go to sleep, and I just
nearly went to sleep and bit it too hard, and it
hurts ever so. Do tell us. Make a nice long
story of it.”
“I can’t make a long story of it to-night,”
said Mother ; « Pm very tired.”
Bobbie knew by her voice that Mother had been
crying, but the others didn’t know.
“ Well, make it as long as you can,” said Phil,
114
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
and Bobbie got her arms round Mother’s waist
and snuggled close to her.
“ Well, it’s a story long enough to make a whole
book of. He’s a writer ; he’s written beautiful
books. But you know in Russia you mustn’t say
anything about the rich people doing wrong, or
about the things that ought to be done to make
poor people better and happier. If you do, they
send you to prison.”
“ But they can't” said Peter; “ people only go to
prison when they’ve done wrong.”
“ Or when the Judges think they’ve done
wrong,” said Mother. “ Yes, that’s so in England.
But in Russia it’s different." And he wrote a
beautiful book about poor people and how to
help them. I’ve read it. There’s nothing in
it but goodness and kindness. And they sent
him to prison for it. He was three years in a
horrible dungeon, with hardly any light, and all
damp and dreadful. In prison all alone for three
years.”
Mother’s voice trembled a little and stopped
suddenly.
“ But, Mother,” said Peter, “ that can’t be true
now. It sounds like something out of a history
book — the Inquisition, or something.”
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
115
“ It is true,” said Mother ; “ it’s all horribly
true. Well, then they took him out and sent
him to Siberia, a convict chained to other con-
victs — wicked men who’d done all sorts of crimes
— a long chain of them, and they walked, and
walked, and walked, for days and weeks, till he
thought they’d never stop walking. And over-
seers went behind them with whips — yes, whips
— to beat them if they got tired. And some of
them went lame, and some fell down, and when
they couldn’t get up and go on, they beat them,
and then left them to die. Oh, it’s all too terrible !
And at last he got to the mines, and he was
condemned to stay there for life — for life, just
for writing a good, noble, splendid book.”
« How did he get away ? ”
“When the war came, some of the Russian
prisoners were allowed to volunteer as soldiers.
And he volunteered. But he deserted at the first
chance he got and — ”
“But that’s very cowardly, isn’t it — ” said
Peter — “ to desert ? Especially when it’s war.”
“Do you think he owed anything to a country
that had done that to him ? If he did, he owed
more to his wife and children. He didn’t know
what had become of them.”
116 [THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Oh,” cried Bobbie, “ he had them to think
about and be miserable about too, then, all the time
he was in prison ? ”
“ Yes, he had them to think about and be mis-
erable about all the time he was in prison. For
anything he knew they might have been sent to
prison, too. They do those things in Russia. But
while he was in the mines some friends managed
to get a message to him that his wife and children
had escaped and come to England. So when he
deserted he came here to look for them.”
“ Has he got their address ? ” said practical
Peter.
“ No ; just England. He was going to London,
and he thought he had to change at our station,
and then he found he’d lost his ticket and his
purse.”
“ Oh, do you think he’ll find them — I mean his
wife and children, not the ticket and things.”
“ I hope so. Oh, I hope and pray that he’ll find
his wife and children again.”
Even Phyllis now perceived that Mother’s voice
was very unsteady.
“ Why, Mother,” she said, “ how very sorry you
seem to be for him ! ”
Mother didn’t answer for a minute. Then she
PRISONERS AND CAPTIVES
117
just said, “ Yes,” and then she seemed to be think-
ing. The children were quiet.
Presently she said, “ Dears, when you say your
prayers, I think you might ask God to show His
pity upon all prisoners and captives.”
“To show His pity,” Bobbie repeated slowly,
“upon all prisoners and captives. Is that right,
Mother ? ”
“Yes,” said Mother, “upon all prisoners and
captives. All prisoners and captives.”
CHAPTER VI
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
The Russian gentleman was better the next day,
and the day after that better still, and on the third
day he was well enough to come into the garden.
A basket chair was put for him and he sat there,
dressed in clothes of Father’s which were too big
for him. But when Mother had hemmed up the
ends of the sleeves and the trousers, the clothes did
well enough. His was a kind face now that it was
no longer tired and frightened, and he smiled at
the children whenever he saw them. They wished
very much that he could speak English. Mother
wrote several letters to people she thought might
know whereabouts in England a Russian gentle-
man’s wife and family might possibly be; not to
the people she used to know before she came to
live at Three Chimneys — she never wrote to any
of them — but strange people, — Members of Par-
liament and Editors of papers, and Secretaries of
Societies.
And she did not do much of her story-writing,
118
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
119
only corrected proofs as she sat in the sun near the
Russian, and talked to him every now and then.
The children wanted very much to shew how
kindly they felt to this man who had been sent to
prison and to Siberia just for writing a beautiful
book about poor people. They could smile at him,
of course ; they could and they did. But if you
smile too constantly, the smile is apt to get fixed
like the smile of the hyaena. And then it no longer
looks friendly, but simply silly. So they tried
other ways, and brought him flowers till the place
where he sat was surrounded by little bunches of
clover and roses and Canterbury bells.
And then Phyllis had an idea. She beckoned
mysteriously to the others and drew them into
the back yard, and there, in a concealed spot,
between the pump and the water-butt, she said : —
“ You remember Perks promising me the very
first strawberries out of his own garden.” Perks,
you will recollect, was the Porter. “Well, I
should think they’re ripe now. Let’s go down
and see.”
Mother had been down as she had promised to
tell the Station Master the story of the Russian
Prisoner. But even the charms of the railway
had been unable to tear the children away from
120
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
the neighbourhood of the interesting stranger.
So they had not been to the station for three
days.
They went now.
And, to their surprise and distress, were very
coldly received by Perks.
“ ’Ighly honoured, I’m sure,” he said when they
peeped in at the door of the Porter’s room. And
he went on reading his newspaper.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“ 0 dear,” said Bobbie, with a sigh, « I do
believe you’re cross”
“ What, me ? Not me ! ” said Perks, loftily ; “ it
ain’t nothing to me.”
“ What ain’t nothing to you ? ” said Peter, too
anxious and alarmed to change the form of words.
“ Nothing ain’t nothing. What ’appens either
’ere or helsewhere,” said Perks, “ if you likes to
’ave your secrets, ’ave ’em and welcome. That’s
what I say.”
The secret-chamber of each heart was rapidly
examined during the pause that followed. Three
heads were shaken.
“We haven’t got any secrets from you” said
Bobbie at last.
“ Maybe you ’ave, and maybe you ’aven’t,” said
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
121
Perks; “it ain’t nothing to me. And I wish you
all a very good afternoon.” He held up the paper
between him and them and went on reading.
“ Oh, don’t ! ” said Phyllis, in despair ; “ this is
truly dreadful ! Whatever it is, do tell us.”
“We didn’t mean to do it whatever it was.”
No answer. The paper was refolded and Perks
began on another column.
“ Look here,” said Peter, suddenly, “ it’s not
fair. Even people who do crimes aren’t punished
without being told what it’s for — unless it’s in
Russia.”
“ I don’t know nothing about Russia.”
“ Oh, yes, you do, when Mother came down on
purpose to tell you and Mr. Gills all about our
Russian.”
“Can’t you fancy it?” said Perks, indignantly;
“ don’t you see ’im a-asking of me to step into ’is
room and take a chair and listen to what ’er Lady-
ship ’as to say ? ”
“ Do you mean to say you’ve not heard ? ”
“ Not so much as a breath. I did go so far as
to put a question. And he shuts me up like a
rat-trap. ‘Affairs of State, Perks,’ says he. But
I did think one o’ you would ’a’ nipped down to
tell me — you’re here sharp enough when you
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
want to get anything out of old Perks,” —
Phyllis flushed purple as she thought of the
strawberries, — “ information about locomotives or
signals or the likes,” said Perks.
“ We didn’t know you didn’t know.”
“We thought Mother had told you.”
“We wanted to tell you only we thought it
would be stale news.”
The three spoke all at once.
Perks said it was all very well, and still held
up the paper. Then Phyllis suddenly snatched it
away, and threw her arms round his neck.
“ Oh, let’s kiss and be friends,” she said ; “ we’ll
say we’re sorry first, if you like, but we didn’t
really know that you didn’t know.”
“We are so sorry,” said the others.
And Perks at last consented to accept their
apologies.
Then they got him to come out and sit in the
sun on the green Railway Bank, where the grass
was quite hot to touch, and there, sometimes
speaking one at a time, and sometimes all together,
they told the Porter the story of the Russian
Prisoner.
“Well, I must say,” said Perks ; but he did not
say it — whatever it was.
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
123
“ Yes, it is pretty awful, isn’t it? ” said Peter,
“and I don’t wonder you were curious about who
the Russian was.”
“ I wasn’t curious, not so much as interested,”
said the Porter.
“ Well, I do think Mr. Gills might have told you
about it. It was horrid of him.”
“ I don’t keep no down on ’im for that, Missie,”
said the Porter; “cos why? I see ’is reasons. ’E’s
Russian sides in this ’ere war. An’ I’m Jap.
Course ’e wouldn’t want to give away ’is own
side with a tale like that ’ere. It ain’t human
nature. A man’s got to stand up for his own
side whatever they does. That’s what it means
by Party Politics. I should ’a’ done the same
myself if that long-’aired chap ’ad ’a’ been a
Jap.”
“ But the Japs don’t do cruel wicked things like
that,” said Bobbie.
“ P’r’aps not,” said Perks, cautiously ; “ still you
can’t be sure with foreigners. My own belief is
they’re all tarred with the same brush.”
“ Then why are you on the side of the Japs ? ”
Peter asked.
“Well, sir — you see you must take one side or
the other. Same as with Liberals and Conserva-
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
tives. The great thing is to take your side and
then stick to it, whatever happens.”
A signal sounded.
“There’s the 3.14 up,” said Perks. “You lie
low till she’s through, and then we’ll go up along
to my place, and see if there’s any of them straw-
berries ripe what I told you about.”
“ If there are any ripe, and you do give them
to me,” said Phyllis, “you won’t mind if I give
them to the poor Russian, will you ? ”
Perks narrowed his eyes and then raised his
eyebrows.
“ So it was them strawberries you come down
for this afternoon, eh ? ” said he.
This was an awkward moment for Phyllis. To
say « yes ” would seem rude and greedy, and
unkind to Perks. But she knew if she said
“ no, ” she would not he pleased with herself after-
wards. So : —
“ Yes,” she said, “ it was.”
“Well done ! ” said the Porter ; « speak the
truth and shame the — ”
“ But we’d have come down the very next
day if we’d known you hadn’t heard the story,”
Phyllis added hastily.
“ I believe you, Missie,” said Perks, and sprang
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
125
across the line six feet in front of the advancing
train.
The girls hated to see him do this, but Peter
liked it. It was so exciting.
The Russian gentleman was so delighted with
the strawberries that the three racked their brains
to find some other surprise for him. But all the
racking did not bring out any idea more novel
than wild cherries. And this idea occurred to
them next morning. They had seen the blossom
on the trees in the spring, and they knew where
to look for wild cherries now that cherry time
was here. The trees grew all up and along the
rocky face of the cliff out of which the mouth
of the tunnel opened. There were all sorts of
trees there, birches and beeches and baby oaks
and hazels, and among them the cherry blossom
had shone like snow and silver.
The mouth of the tunnel was some way from
Three Chimneys, so Mother let them take their
lunch with them in a basket. And the basket
would do to bring the cheeries back in if they
found any. She also lent them her silver watch
so that they should not be late for tea. Peter’s
Waterbury had taken it into its head not to go
since the day when Peter dropped it into the
126
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
water-butt. And they started. When they got
to the top of the cutting, they leaned over the
fence and looked down to where the railway
lines lay at the bottom of what, as Phyllis said,
was exactly like a mountain gorge.
“ If it wasn’t for the railway at the bottom, it
would be as though the foot of man had never,
wouldn’t it ? ” she said.
The sides of the cutting were of gray stone,
very roughly hewn. Indeed the top part of the
cutting had been a little natural glen that had been
cut deeper to bring it down to the level of the
tunnel’s mouth. Among the rocks, grass and
flowers grew, and seeds dropped by birds in the
crannies of the stone had taken root and grown
into bushes and trees that overhung the cutting.
Near the tunnel was a flight of steps leading down
to the line — just wooden bars roughly fixed into
the earth — a very steep and narrow way, more like
a ladder than a stair.
“ We’d better get down,” said Peter ; “ I’m sure
the cherries would be quite easy to get at from the
side of the steps. You remember it was there we
picked the cherry blossom that we put on the
rabbit’s funeral grave.”
So they went along the fence towards the little
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN 127
swing gate that is at the top of these steps.
And they were almost at the gate when Bobbie
said : —
“ Hush. Stop ! What’s that ? ”
“ That ” was a very odd noise indeed, — a soft
noise, but quite plainly to be heard through the
sound of the wind in the tree branches, and the
hum and whirr of the telegraph wires. It was a
sort of rustling, whispering sound. As they listened
it stopped, and then it began again.
And this time it did not stop, but it grew louder
and more rustling and rumbling.
“ Look — ” cried Peter, suddenly — “ the tree
over there ! ”
The tree he pointed at was one of those that
have rough gray leaves and white flowers. The
berries, when they come, are bright scarlet, but if
you pick them, they disappoint you by turning
black before you get them home. And, as Peter
pointed, the tree was moving, — not just the way
trees ought to move when the wind blows through
them, but all in one piece, as though it were a
live creature and were walking down the side of
the cutting.
“ It’s moving ! ” cried Bobbie. “ Oh, look ! and so
are the others. It’s like the woods in Macbeth.”
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ It’s magic,” said Phyllis, breathlessly. “ I
always knew this railway was enchanted.”
It really did seem a little like magic. For all
the trees for about twenty yards of the opposite
bank seemed to be slowly walking down towards the
railway line, the tree with the gray leaves bringing
up the rear like some old shepherd driving a flock
of green sheep.
“ What is it ? Oh, what is it ? ” said Phyllis ;
“ it’s much too magic for me. I don’t like it.
Let’s go home.”
But Bobby and Peter clung fast to the rail,
and watched breathlessly. And Phyllis made no
movement towards going home by herself.
The trees moved on and on. Some stones and
loose earth fell down and rattled on the railway
metals far below.
“ It’s all coming down,” Peter tried to say, but
he found there was hardly any voice to say it with.
And, indeed, just as he spoke, the great rock, on the
top of which the walking trees were, leaned slowly
forward. The trees, ceasing to walk, stood still
and shivered and shivered. Leaning with the rock,
they seemed to hesitate a moment, and then rock
and trees and grass and bushes, with a rushing
sound, slipped right away from the face of the
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
129
cutting and fell on the line with a blundering crash
that could have been heard half a mile off. A
cloud of dust rose up.
“ Oh,” said Peter, in awestruck tones, “ isn’t it
exactly like when coals come in — if there wasn’t
any roof to the cellar and you could see down.”
“ Look what a great mound it’s made ! ” said
Bobbie.
“ Yes, it’s right across the down line,” said
Phyllis.
“ That’ll take some sweeping up,” said Bobbie.
“ Yes,” said Peter, slowly. He was still leaning
on the fence. “Yes,” he said again, still more
slowly.
Then he stood upright.
“ The 11.2 down hasn’t gone by yet. We must
let them know at the station, or there’ll be a most
frightful accident.”
“ Let’s run,” said Bobbie, and began.
But Peter cried, “ Come back ! ” and looked at
Mother’s watch. He was very prompt and busi-
nesslike, and his face looked whiter than they had
ever seen it.
“No time,” he said ; « it’s two miles away, and
it’s past eleven.”
“Couldn’t we,” suggested Phyllis, breathlessly,
130
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ couldn’t we climb up a telegraph post and do
something to the wires ? ”
“ We don’t know how,” said Peter.
“ They do it in war,” said Phyllis ; “ I know I’ve
heard of it.”
“ They only cut them, silly,” said Peter, “ and
that doesn’t do any good. And we couldn’t cut
them even if we got up, and we couldn’t get up.
If we had anything red, we could get down on the
line and wave it.”
“ But the train wouldn’t see us till it got round
the corner, and then it could see the mound just
as well as us,” said Phyllis ; “ better, because it’s
much bigger than us.”
“ If we only had something red,” Peter repeated ;
“ we could go round the corner and wave to the
train.”
“We might wave, anyway.”
“They’d only think it was just us , as usual.
We’ve waved so often before. Anyway, let’s get
down.”
They got down the steep stairs. Bobbie was
pale and shivering. Peter’s face looked thinner
than usual. Phyllis was red-faced and damp with
anxiety.
“ Oh, how hot I am ! ” she said ; “ and I thought
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
131
it was going to be cold ; I wish we hadn’t put on
our — ” she stopped short, and then ended in quite
a different tone - — “ our flannel petticoats.”
Bobbie turned at the bottom of the stairs.
“ Oh, yes,” she cried ; “ they're red ! Let’s take
them off.”
They did, and with the petticoats rolled up
under their arms, ran along the railway, skirting
the newly fallen mound of stones and rock and
earth, and bent, crushed, twisted trees. They ran
at their best pace. Peter led, but the girls were
not far behind. They reached the corner that hid
the mound from the straight line of railway that
ran half a mile without curve or corner.
“Now,” said Peter, taking hold of the largest
flannel petticoat.
“You’re not — ” Phyllis faltered- — “you’re not
going to tear them ? ”
“ Shut up,” said Peter, with brief sternness.
« Oh, yes,” said Bobbie, “ tear them into little
bits if you like. Don’t you see, Phil, if we can’t
stop the train, there’ll be a real live accident, with
people hilled. Oh, horrible ! Here, Peter, you’ll
never tear it through the band ! ”
She took the red flannel petticoat from him and
tore it off an inch from the band. Then she tore
the other in the same way.
132 THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ There ! ” said Peter, tearing in his turn. He
divided each petticoat into three pieces. “Now,
we’ve got six flags.” He looked at the watch
again. « And we’ve got seven minutes. We must
have flag-staffs.”
The knives given to boys are, for some odd
reason, seldom of the kind of steel that keeps
sharp. The young saplings had to be broken off.
Two came up by the roots. The leaves were
stripped from them.
“ We must cut holes in the flags, and run the
sticks through the holes,” said Peter. And the
holes were cut. The knife was sharp enough to
cut flannel with. Two of the flags were set up in
heaps of loose stones between the sleepers of the
down line. Then Phyllis and Roberta took each a
flag, and stood ready to wave it as soon as the
train came in sight.
“ I shall have the other two myself,” said Peter,
“because it was my idea if we waved something
red.”
“They’re our petticoats, though,” Phyllis was
beginning, but Bobbie interrupted —
“ Oh, what does it matter who waves what, if
we can only save the train ? ”
Perhaps Peter had not rightly calculated the
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
133
number of minutes it would take the 11.29 to get
from the station to the place where they were, or
perhaps the train was late. Anyway, it seemed a
very long time that they waited.
Phyllis grew impatient. “ I expect the watch is
wrong, and the train’s gone by,” said she.
Peter relaxed the heroic attitude he had chosen
to shew off his two flags with. And Bobbie began
to feel sick with suspense.
It seemed to her that they had been standing
there for hours and hours, holding those silly little
red flannel flags that no one would ever notice.
The train wouldn’t care. It would go rushing by
them and tear round the corner and go crashing
into that awful mound. And every one would be
killed. Her hands grew very cold and trembled so
that she could hardly hold the flag. And then
came the distant rumble and hum of the metals,
and a puff of white steam showed far away along
the stretch of line.
“ Stand firm,” said Peter, “ and wave like mad !
When it gets to that big furze bush step back, but
go on waving ! Don’t stand on the line, Bobbie ! ”
The train came rattling along very very fast.
“ They don’t see us ! They won’t see us ! It’s
all no good ! ” cried Bobbie.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
The two little flags on the line swayed as the
nearing train shook and loosened the heaps of loose
stones that held them up. One of them slowly
leaned over and fell on the line. Bobbie jumped
forward and caught it up, and waved it; her hands
did not tremble now.
“Keep off the line, you silly cuckoo!” said Peter,
fiercely.
It seemed that the train came on as fast as ever.
It was very near now
“ IPs no good,” Bobbie said again.
“ Stand back ! ” cried Peter, suddenly, and he
dragged Phyllis back by the arm.
But Bobbie cried, “ Not yet, not yet!” and waved
her two flags right over the line. The front of the
engine looked black and enormous. It’s voice was
loud and harsh.
“ Oh, stop, stop, stop ! ” cried Bobbie. No one
heard her. At least Peter and Phyllis didn’t, for the
oncoming rush of the train covered the sound of her
voice with a mountain of sound. But afterwards
she used to wonder whether the engine itself had
not heard her. It seemed almost as though it had
— for it slackened swiftly, slackened and stopped,
not twenty yards from the place where Bobbie’s
two flags waved over the line. She saw the great
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
135
black engine stop dead, but somehow she could not
stop waving the flags. And when the driver and
the fireman had got ofi the engine and Peter and
Phyllis had gone to meet them and pour out
their excited tale of the awful mound just round
the corner, Bobbie still waved the flags but more
and more feebly and jerkily.
When the others turned towards her she was
lying across the line with her hands flung forward
and still gripping the sticks of the little red flannel
flags.
The engine-driver picked her up, carried her to
the train, and laid her on the cushions of a first-
class carriage.
“ Gone right off in a faint,” he said, “ poor little
woman. And no wonder. I’ll just ’ave a look at
this ’ere mound of yours, and then we’ll run you
back to the station and get her seen to.”
It was horrible to see Bobbie lying so white and
quiet, with her lips blue, and parted.
“ I believe that’s what people look like when
they’re dead,” whispered Phyllis.
“ Don't ! ” said Peter, sharply.
They sat by Bobbie on the blue cushions, and
the train ran back. Before it reached their station
Bobbie had sighed and opened her eyes, and
136
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
rolled herself over and begun to cry. This cheered
the others wonderfully. They had seen her cry be-
fore, but they had never seen her faint, nor any one
else, for the matter of that. They had not known
what to do when she was fainting, but now she was
only crying they could thump her on the back and
tell her not to, just as they always did. And
presently, when she stopped crying, they were able
to laugh at her for being such a coward as to faint.
When the station was reached, the three were
the heroes of an agitated meeting on the plat-
form.
The praises they got for their “ prompt action,”
their “ common sense,” their “ ingenuity,” were
enough to have turned anybody’s head. Phyllis
enjoyed herself thoroughly. She had never been a
real heroine, and the feeling was delicious. Peter’s
ears got very red. Yet he, too, enjoyed himself.
Only Bobbie wished they all wouldn’t. She
wanted to get away.
“ You’ll hear from the Company about this, I
expect,” said the Station Master.
Bobbie wished she might never hear of it again.
She pulled at Peter’s jacket.
“ Oh, come away, come away ! I want to go
home,” she said.
SAVIOURS OF THE TRAIN
137
So they went. And as they went Station Mas-
ter and Porter and guards and driver and firemen
and passengers sent up a cheer.
“ Oh, listen,” cried Phyllis ; “ that’s for us ! ”
“Yes,” said Peter, “I say, I am glad I thought
about something red, and waving it.”
“ How lucky we did put on our red flannel
petticoats ! ” said Phyllis.
Bobbie said nothing. She was thinking of the
horrible mound, and the trustful train rushing
towards it.
“ And it was us that saved them,” said Peter.
“ How dreadful if they’d all been killed ! ” said
Phyllis, with enjoyment ; “ wouldn’t it, Bobbie ? ”
“We never got any cherries, after all,” said
Bobbie.
The otheis thought her rather heartless.
CHAPTER VII
FOR VALOUR
I hope you don’t mind my telling you a good
deal about Roberta. The fact is I am growing
very fond of her. The more I observe her the
more I love her. And I notice all sorts of things
about her that I should like to notice about you if
you were my little girl. For instance, she was
quite oddly anxious to make other people happy.
And she could keep a secret, a tolerably rare
accomplishment. Also she had the power of silent
sympathy. That sounds rather dull, I know, but
it’s not so dull as it sounds. It just means that a
person is able to know that you are unhappy, and
to love you extra on that account, without bother-
ing you by telling you all the time how sorry she
is for you. That was what Bobbie was like.
She knew that Mother was unhappy — and that
Mother had not told her the reason. So she just
loved Mother more and never said a single word
that could let Mother know how earnestly her
little girl wondered what Mother was unhappy
138
FOR VALOUR
139
about. You might practise doing this. It is not
so easy as you might think.
Whatever happened, — and all sorts of nice
pleasant ordinary things happened, — such as pic-
nics, games, and buns for tea, Bobbie always had
these thoughts at the back of her mind. “ Mother’s
unhappy. Why ? I don’t know. She doesn’t want
me to know. I won’t try to find out. But she is
unhappy. Why? I don’t know. She doesn’t — ”
and so on, repeating and repeating like a tune
that you don’t know the stopping part of.
The Russian gentleman still took up a good deal
of everybody’s thoughts. All the editors and sec-
retaries of Societies and Members of Parliament
had answered Mother’s letters as politely as they
knew how ; but none of them could tell where
the wife and children of Mr. Cschapansky would
be likely to be. (Did I tell you that the Russian’s
very Russian name was that ?)
Bobbie had another quality which you will hear
differently described by different people. Some of
them call it interfering in other people’s business
— and some call it “ helping lame dogs over stiles,”
and some call it “ loving-kindness.” It just means
trying to help people.
She racked her brains to think of some way of
140
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
helping the Russian gentleman to find his wife and
children. He had learned a few words of English
now. He could say “Good morning,” and “Good
night,” and “ Please,” and “ Thank you,” and
“ Pretty,” when the children brought him flowers,
and “Ver’ good,” when they asked him how he
had slept.
The way he smiled when he “ said his English,’’
was, Bobbie felt, “ just too sweet for anything.”
She used to think of his face because she fancied
it would help her to some way of helping him.
But it did not. Yet his being there cheered her
because she saw that it made Mother happier.
“ She likes to have some one to be good to even
beside us,” said Roberta. “ And I know she hated
to let him have Father’s clothes. But I suppose it
4 hurt nice ’ or she wouldn’t have.”
For many and many a night after the day when
she and Peter and Phyllis had saved the train
from wreck by waving their little red flannel flags,
Bobbie used to wake screaming and shivering,
seeing again that horrible mound, and the poor
dear trustful engine rushing on towards it — just
thinking that it was doing its swift duty, and that
everything was clear and safe. And then a warm
thrill of pleasure used to run through her at the
remembrance of how she and Peter and Phyllis and
FOR VALOUR
141
the red flannel petticoats had really saved every-
body.
One morning a letter came. It was addressed to
Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis. They opened it
with enthusiastic curiosity, for they did not often
get letters. —
The letter said :
“ Dear Sir, and Ladies, — It is proposed to
makea small presentation to you, in commemoration
of your prompt and courageous action in warning
the train on the inst., and thus averting what
must, humanly speaking, have been a terrible acci-
dent. The presentation will take place at the
Station at three o’clock on the 30th inst. if this
time and place will be convenient to you.
“ Yours faithfully,
“ Jabez Inglewood.
“ Secretary Great Northern and Southern Hallway CoP
There never had been a prouder moment in the
lives of the three children. They rushed to
Mother with the letter and she also felt proud and
said so, and this made the children happier than
ever.
“ But if the presentation is money, you must say,
6 Thank you, but you’d rather not take it,’ ” said
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Mother. “ I’ll wash your Indian muslins at once,”
she added. “You must look tidy on an occasion
like this.”
“ Phil and I can wash them,” said Bobbie, “ if
you’ll iron them, Mother.”
Washing is rather fun. I wonder whether
you’ve ever done it ? This particular washing took
place in the back kitchen which had a stone floor
and a very big stone sink under its window.
“ Let’s put the bath on the sink,” said Phyllis ;
“ then we can pretend we’re out-of-doors washer-
women like Mother saw in France.”
“ But they were washing in the cold river,” said
Peter, his hands in his pockets, “ not in hot water.”
“ This is a hot river, then,” said Phyllis ; “ lend a
hand with the bath, there’s a dear.”
“ I should like to see a deer lending a hand,”
said Peter, but he lent his.
“Now to rub and scrub and scrub and rub,”
said Phyllis, hopping joyously about as Bobbie
carefully carried the heavy kettle from the kitchen
fire.
“ Oh, no ! ” said Bobbie, greatly shocked ; “ you
don’t rub muslin. You put the boiled soap in the
hot water and make it all frothy-lathery — and
then you shake the muslin and squeeze it, ever so
FOR VALOUR
143
gently, and all the dirt comes out. It’s only
clumsy things like tablecloths and sheets that
have to be rubbed.”
The sweetbrier and the Gloire de Dijon roses
outside the window swayed in the soft breeze.
“ It’s a nice drying day — that’s one thing,” said
Bobbie, feeling very grown up. “ Oh, I do wonder
what wonderful feelings we shall have when we
wear the Indian muslin dresses ! ”
“ Yes, so do I,” said Phyllis, shaking and squeez-
ing the muslin in quite a professional manner.
“ Now we squeeze out the soapy water. No —
we mustn’t twist them — and then rinse them.
I’ll hold them while you and Peter empty the bath
and get clean water.”
“ A presentation ! That means presents,” said
Peter, as his sisters, having duly washed the pegs
and wiped the line, hung up the dresses to dry.
“ Whatever will it be ? ”
“ It might be anything,” said Phyllis; “ what
I’ve always wanted is a Baby elephant — but I
suppose they wouldn’t know that.”
“ Suppose it was gold models of steam-engines?”
said Bobbie.
“ Or a big model of the scene of the prevented
accident,” suggested Peter, “with a little model
144
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
train, and dolls dressed like us and the engine-
driver and fireman and passengers.”
“ Do you like” said Bobbie, doubtfully, drying
her hands on the rough towel that hung on a roller
at the back of the scullery door, “ do you like
us being rewarded for saving a train ? ”
“ Yes, I do,” said Peter, downrightly ; “ and
don’t you try to come it over us that you don’t
like it, too. Because I know you do.”
“ Yes,” said Bobbie, doubtfully, “ I know I do.
But oughtn’t we to be satisfied with just having
done it, and not ask for anything more ? ”
“ Who did ask for anything more, silly ? ” said
her brother. “ Victoria Cross soldiers don’t ask
for it ; but they’re glad enough to get it all the
same. Perhaps it’ll be medals. Then when I’m
very old indeed, I shall show them to my grand-
children and say, ‘ We only did our duty,’ and
they’ll be awfully proud of me.”
“ You have to be married,” warned Phyllis, “or
you don’t have any grandchildren.”
“ I suppose I shall have to be married some day,”
said Peter, “ but it will be an awful bother having
her round all the time. I’d like to marry a lady
who had trances, and only woke up once or twice
a year.”
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145
“Just to say you were the light of her life and
then go to sleep again. Yes. That wouldn’t be
bad,” said Bobbie.
“When I get married,” said Phyllis, “I shall
want him to want me to be awake all the time, so
that I can hear him say how nice I am.”
“ I think it would be nice,” said Bobbie, “ to
marry some one very poor, and then you’d do al
the work and he’d love you most frightfully, and
see the blue wood smoke curling up among the
trees from the domestic hearth as he came home
from work every night. I say — we’ve got to
answer that letter and say that the time and place
will be convenient to us. There’s the soap, Peter.
We’re both as clean as clean. That pink box you
had on your birthday, Phil.”
It took some time to arrange what should be
said. Mother had gone back to her writing, and
several sheets of pink paper with scalloped gilt
edges and green four-leaved shamrocks in the
corner were spoiled before the three had decided
what to say. Then each made a copy and signed
it with its own name.
The threefold letter ran : —
“Dear Mr. Jabez Inglewood, — Thank you
very much. We did not want to be rewarded
146
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
but only to save the train, but we are glad you
think so and thank you very much. The time
and place you say will be quite convenient to us.
Thank you very much.
“ Your affecate little friend,”
Then came the name, and after it : —
“ P.S. Thank you very much.”
“ Washing is much easier than ironing,” said
Bobbie, taking the clean dry dresses off the line.
“ I do love to see things come clean. Oh — I
don’t know how we shall wait till it’s time to
know what presentation they’re going to present ! ”
When at last — it seemed a very long time
after, — it was the day, the three children went
down to the station at the Proper time. And
everything that happened was so odd that it
seemed like a dream. The Station Master came
out to meet them — in his best clothes, as Peter
noticed at once — and led them into the waiting
room where once they had played the advertise-
ment game. It looked quite different now. A
carpet had been put down — and there were pots
of roses on the mantlepiece and on the window
ledges — green branches stuck up, like holly and
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147
laurel are at Christmas, over the framed adver-
tisement of Cook Tours and the Beauties of Devon
and the Paris Lyons Railway. There were quite a
number of people there besides the Porter, — two
or three ladies in smart dresses, and quite a crowd
of gentlemen in high hats and frock coats —
besides everybody who belonged to the station.
They recognized several people who had been in
the train on the red-flannel-petticoat day. Best
of all their own old gentleman was there, and
his coat and hat and collar seemed more than ever
different from any one else’s. He shook hands with
them and then everybody sat down on chairs, and
a gentleman in spectacles — they found out after-
wards that he was the District Superintendent —
began quite a long speech — very clever indeed
I am not going to write the speech down. First,
because you would think it dull ; and secondly,
because it made all the children blush so, and get
so hot about the ears that I am quite anxious to
get away from this part of the subject ; and thirdly,
because the gentleman took so many words to say
what he had to say that I really haven’t time to
write them down. He said all sorts of nice things
about the children’s bravery and presence of mind,
and when he had done he sat down, and every one
who was there clapped and said, “Hear hear.”
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
And then the old gentleman got up and said
things, too. It was very like a prize-giving. And
then he called the children one by one, by their
names, and gave each of them a beautiful gold
watch and chain. And inside the watches were en-
graved after the name of the watch’s new owner : —
“From the Directors of the Northern and South-
ern Railway in grateful recognition of the coura-
geous and prompt action which averted an
accident on 1905.”
The watches were the most beautiful you can
possibly imagine, and each one had a blue leather
case to live in when it was at home.
“ You must make a speech now and thank every
one for their kindness,” whispered the Station
Master in Peter’s ear and pushed him forward.
“ Begin 4 Ladies and Gentlemen,’ ” he added.
Each of the children had already said, “ Thank
you,” quite properly.
44 0 dear,” said Peter, but, he did not resist the
push.
44 Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said in a rather
husky voice. Then there was a pause, and he
heard his heart beating in his throat. 44 Ladies
and gentlemen,” he went on with a rush, 44 it’s
most awfully good of you, and we shall treasure
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149
the watches all our lives — but really we don’t
deserve it because what we did wasn’t anything,
really. At least, I mean it was awfully exciting,
and w r hat I mean to say — thank you all very, very
much.”
The people clapped Peter more than they had
done the District Superintendent, and then every-
bodjr shook hands with them, and as soon as polite-
ness would let them, they got away, and tore up
the hill to Three Chimneys, with their watches in
their hands.
It was a wonderful day — the kind of day
that very seldom happens to anybody and to most
of us not at all.
“ I did want to talk to the old gentleman about
something else,” said Bobbie, “ but it was so pub-
lie — like being in church.”
“ What did you want to say ? ” asked Phyllis.
“ I’ll tell you when I’ve thought about it more,”
said Bobbie.
So w T hen she had thought a little more she
wrote a letter.
« My dearest old gentleman,” it said ; “ I want
most awfully to ask you something. If you could
get out of the train and go by the next, it would
do. I do not want you to give me anything.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Mother says we ought not to. And besides, we do
not want any things. Only to talk to you about a
Prisoner and Captive. Your loving little friend,
“ Bobbie.”
She got the Station Master to give the letter to
the old gentleman, and next day she asked Peter
and Phyllis to come down to the station with her
at the time when the train that brought the old
gentleman from town would be passing through.
She explained her idea to them — and they
approved thoroughly.
They had all washed their hands and faces, and
brushed their hair, and were looking as tidy as
they knew how. But Phyllis, always unlucky,
had upset a jug of lemonade down the front of
her dress. There was no time to change — and
the wind happening to blow from the coal yard,
her frock was soon powdered with gray, which
stuck to the sticky lemonade stains and made her
look, as Peter said, “ like any little gutter child.”
It was decided that she should keep behind the
others as much as possible.
“ Perhaps the old gentleman won’t notice,” said
Bobbie. “ The aged are often weak in the eye.”
There was no sign of weakness, however, in the
eyes, or in any other part of the old gentleman, as
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151
he stepped from the train and looked up and down
the platform.
The three children, now that it came to the point,
suddenly felt that rush of deep shyness which
makes your ears red and hot, your hands warm
and wet, and the tip of your nose pink and shiny.
“ Oh,” said Phyllis, “ my heart’s thumping like
a steam-engine — right under my sash, too.”
“ Nonsense,” said Peter, “ people’s hearts aren’t
under their sashes.”
“ I don’t care — mine is,” said Phyllis.
“ If you’re going to talk like a poetry-book,”
said Peter, “my heart’s in — ”
“My heart’s in my boots — if you come to
that,” said Roberta ; “ but do come on — he’ll
think we’re idiots.”
“ He won’t be far wrong,” said Peter, gloomily.
And they went forward to meet the old gentleman.
“ Hullo,” he said, shaking hands with them all in
turn. “ This is a very great pleasure.”
“ It was good of you to get out,” Bobbie said,
perspiring and polite.
He took her arm and drew her into the wait-
ing room where she and the others had played
the advertisement game the day they found the
Russian. Phyllis and Peter followed. “Well,”
152
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
said the old gentleman, giving Bobbie’s arm a
kind little shake before he let it go, “Well?
What is it?”
“ Oh, please ! ” said Bobbie.
“Yes?” said the old gentleman.
“What I mean to say — ” said Bobbie.
“ Well ? ” said the old gentleman.
“ It’s all very nice and kind,” said she.
“ But ? ” he said.
“ I wish I might say something,” she said.
“ Say it,” said he.
“Well, then,” said Bobbie — and out came the
story of the Russian who had written the beau-
tiful book about poor people, and had been sent
to prison and to Siberia for just that.
“ And what we want more than anything in
the world is to find his wife and children for
him,” said Bobbie, “ but we don’t know how.
But you must be most horribly clever, or you
wouldn’t be a Direction of the Railway. And
if you knew how — and would? We’d rather
have that than anything else in the world.
We’d go without the watches, even, if you could
sell them and find his wife with the money.”
And the others said so, too, though not with
so much enthusiasm.
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153
“Hum,” said the old gentleman, pulling down
the white waistcoat that had the big gilt
buttons on it, “what did you say the name was
— Fryingpansky ? ”
“ No, no,” said Bobbie, earnestly. “ I’ll write
it down for you. It doesn’t really look at all
like that except when you say it. Have you a bit
of pencil and the back of an envelope ? ” she asked.
The old gentleman got out a gold pencil-case
and a beautiful, sweet-smelling, green Russia
leather note-book and opened it at a new page.
“ Here,” he said, “ write here.”
She wrote down, “ Szezcpansky,” and said : —
“That’s how you write it. You call it She-
pansky.”
The old gentleman took out a pair of gold-
rimmed spectacles and fitted them on his nose.
When he had read the name, he looked quite
different.
“ That man ? Bless my soul ! ” he said. “ Why,
I’ve read his book ! It’s translated into every
European language. A fine book — a noble
book. And so your Mother took him in — like
the good Samaritan. Well, well. I’ll tell you
what, youngsters — your Mother must be a very
good woman.”
154
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Of course she is,” said Phyllis, in astonish-
ment.
“ And you’re a very good man,” said Bobbie,
very shy, but firmly resolved to be polite.
“You flatter me,” said the old gentleman, tak-
ing off his hat with a flourish. “ And now am
I to tell you what I think of you ? ”
“ Oh, please don’t,” said Bobbie, hastily.
“ Why ? ” asked the old gentleman.
“ I don’t exactly know,” said Bobbie. “ Only
— if it’s horrid, I don’t want you to ; and if it’s
nice, I’d rather you didn’t.”
The old gentleman laughed.
“ Well, then,” he said, “ I’ll only just say
that I’m very glad you came to me about this
— very glad, indeed. And I shouldn’t be sur-
prised if I found out something very soon. I
know a great many Russians in London, and
every Russian knows his name. Now tell me
all about yourselves.”
He turned to the others, but there was only
one other, and that was Peter. Phyllis had dis-
appeared.
“ Tell me all about yourself,” said the old gen-
tleman again. And, quite naturally, Peter was
stricken dumb.
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155
“ All right, we’ll have an examination,” said the
old gentleman ; “ you two sit on the table, and I’ll
sit on the bench and ask questions.”
He did, and out came their names and ages —
their Father’s name and business — how long they
had lived at Three Chimneys and a great deal
more.
The questions were beginning to turn on a her-
ring and a half for three halfpence, and a pound of
lead, and a pound of feathers, when the door of
the waiting room was kicked open by a boot;
as the boot came in every one could see that its
lace was coming undone — and in came Phyllis,
very slowly and carefully.
In one hand she carried a large tin can, and in
the other a thick slice of bread and butter.
“ Afternoon tea,” she announced proudly, and
held the can and the bread and butter out to the
old gentleman who took them and said : —
“ Bless my soul ! ”
“Yes,” said Phyllis.
“ It’s very thoughtful of you,” said the old
gentleman, “very.”
« But you might have got a cup,” said Bobbie,
“ and a plate.”
“ Perks always drinks out of the can,” said
156 THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Phyllis, flushing red. “I think it was very nice
of him to give it me at all — let alone cups and
plates,” she added.
“ So do I,” said the old gentleman, and he
drank some of the tea and tasted the bread and
butter.
And then it was time for the next train, and he
got into it with many good-bys and kind last
words.
“ Well,” said Peter, when they were left on the
platform, and the tail-lights of the train disap-
peared round the corner, “ it’s my belief that we’ve
lighted a candle to-day, — like Latimer, you know,
when he was being burned, — and there’ll be fire-
works for our Russian before long.”
And so there was.
It wasn’t ten days after the interview in the
waiting room that the three children were sitting
on the top of the biggest rock in the field below
their house watching the 5.15 steam away from
the station along the bottom of the valley. They
saw too, the few people who had got out at the
station straggling up the road towards the vil-
lage — and they saw one person leave the road
and open the gate that led across the fields to
Three Chimneys and to nowhere else.
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157
“ Who on earth ! ” said Peter, scrambling down.
“ Let’s go and see,” said Phyllis.
So they did. And when they got near enough
to see who the person was, they saw it was their
old gentleman himself, his brass buttons winking
in the afternoon sunshine, and his white waistcoat
looking whiter than ever against the green of the
field.
“ Hullo!” shouted the children, waving their
hands.
“ Hullo ! ” shouted the old gentleman, waving
his hat.
Then the three started to run — and when they
got to him they hardly had breath left to say : —
“ How do you do ? ”
“ Good news,” said he. “ I’ve found your Rus-
sian friend’s wife and child — and I couldn’t resist
the temptation of giving myself the pleasure of
telling him.”
But as he looked at Bobbie’s face he felt that he
could resist that temptation.
« Here,” he said to her, “ you run on and tell
him. The other two will show me the way.”
Bobbie ran. But when she had breathlessly
panted out her news to the Russian and Mother
sitting in the quiet garden — when Mother’s face
158
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
had lighted up so beautifully, and she had said
half a dozen quick French words to the Exile —
Bobbie wished that she had not carried the news.
For the Russian sprang up with a cry that made
Bobbie’s heart leap and then tremble, — a cry of
love and longing such as she had never heard.
Then he took Mother’s hand and kissed it gently
and reverently — and then he sank down in his
chair and covered his face with his hands and
sobbed. Bobbie crept away. She did not want
to see the others just then.
But she was as gay as anybody when the end-
less French talking was over, when Peter had
torn down to the village for buns and cakes, and
the girls had got tea ready and taken it out into
the garden.
The old gentleman was most merry and delight-
ful. He seemed to be able to talk in French and
English almost at the same moment, and Mother
did nearly as well. It was a delightful time.
Mother seemed as if she could not make enough
fuss about the old gentleman, and she said yes at
once when he asked if he might present some
“ goodies ” to his little friends.
The word was new to the children — but they
guessed that it meant sweets, for the three large
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159
pink and green boxes, tied with green ribbon,
which he took out of his bag, held unheard-of
layers of beautiful chocolates.
The Russian’s few belongings were packed, and
they all saw him off at the station.
Then Mother turned to the old gentleman and
said : —
“ I don’t know how to thank you for everything.
It has been a real pleasure to me to see you. But
we live very quietly. I am so sorry that I can’t
ask you to come and see us again.”
The children thought this very hard. When
they had made a friend — and such a friend —
they would dearly have liked him to come and
see them again.
What the old gentleman thought they couldn’t
tell. He only said : —
“ I consider myself very fortunate, Madam, to
have been received once at your house.”
“ Ah,” said Mother, “ I know I must seem surly
and ungrateful — but — ”
“You could never seem anything but a most
charming and gracious lady,” said the old gentle-
man, with another of his bows.
And as they turned to go up the hill, Bobby saw
her Mother’s face.
160
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ How tired you look, Mammy,” she said ; “ lean
on me.”
“ It’s my place to give Mother my arm,” said
Peter. “ I’m the head man of the family when
Father’s away.”
Mother took an arm of each.
“ How awfully nice,” said Phyllis, skipping
jojHully, “ to think of the dear Russian embracing
his long-lost wife. The baby must have grown
a lot since he saw it.”
“ Yes,” said Mother.
“ I wonder whether Father will think Fve
grown,” Phyllis went on, skipping still more gaily.
“ I have grown already, haven’t I, Mother ? ”
« Yes,” said Mother, “ oh, yes,” and Bobbie and
Peter felt her hands tighten on their arms.
“ Poor old Mammy, you are tired,” said Peter.
Bobbie said, “ Come on, Phil ; I’ll race you to
the gate.”
And she started the race, though she hated doing
it. You know why Bobbie did that. Mother
only thought that Bobby was tired of walking
slowly. Even Mothers, who love you better than
any one else ever will, don’t always understand.
CHAPTER VIII
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN
“ That’s a likely little brooch you’ve got on,
Miss,” said Perks the Porter; “ I don’t know as ever
I see a thing more like a buttercup without it was
a buttercup.”
“ Yes,” said Bobbie, glad and flushed by this
approval. “ I always thought it was more like a
buttercup almost than even a real one, — and I
never thought it would come to be mine, my very
own — and then Mother gave it to me for my
birthday.”
“ Oh — have you had a birthday ? ” said Perks ;
and he seemed quite surprised, as though a birth-
day were a thing only granted to a favoured few.
“Yes,” said Bobbie; “when’s your birthday, Mr.
Perks ? ” The children were taking tea with Mr.
Perks in the Porter’s room among the lamps and
the railway almanacs. They had brought their
own cups and some jam turnovers. Mr. Perks
made tea in a beer can, as usual, and every one felt
very happy and confidential.
M 161
162
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ My birthday ? ” said Perks, tipping some more
dark brown tea out of the can into Peter’s cup.
“ I give up keeping of my birthday afore you was
born.”
“ But you must have been born sometime , you
know,” said Phyllis, thoughtfully, “ even if it was
twenty years ago — or thirty or sixty or seventy.”
“ Not so long as that, Missis,” Perks grinned
as he answered. “ If you really want to know, it
was thirty-two years ago, come the fifteenth of this
month.”
“ Then why don’t you keep it ? ” asked Phyllis.
“ I’ve got something else to keep besides birth-
days,” said Perks, briefly.
“ Oh ! What ? ” asked Phyllis, eagerly, “ not
secrets ? ”
“ No,” said Perks, “ the kids and the Missus.”
It was this talk that set the children thinking,
and, presently, talking. Perks was, on the whole,
the dearest friend they had made. Not so grand
as the Station Master, but more approachable —
less powerful than the old gentleman, but more
confidential.
“ It seems horrid that nobody keeps his birth-
day,” said Bobbie. “ Couldn’t we do something ? ”
“Let’s go up to the Canal bridge and talk it
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN
163
over,” said Peter. “ I got a new gut line from
the postman this morning. He gave it me for a
bunch of roses for his sweetheart. She’s ill.”
“ Then I do think you might have given her the
roses for nothing,” said Bobbie, indignantly.
“ Nyang, nyang ! ” said Peter, disagreeably, and
put his hands in his pockets.
“ He did, of course,” said Phyllis, in haste ; “ di-
rectly we heard she was ill we got the roses ready
and waited by the gate. It was when you were
making the brekker-toast. And when he’d said
‘ Thank-you ’ for the roses so many times, — much
more than he need have, — he pulled out the line
and gave it to Peter. It wasn’t exchange. It was
the grateful heart.”
“ Oh, I beg your pardon, Peter,” said Bobbie,
“ I am so sorry.”
“ Don’t mention it,” said Peter, grandly, “ I knew
you would be.”
So then they all went up to the Canal bridge.
The idea was to fish from the bridge, but the line
was not quite long enough.
“ Never mind,” said Bobbie. “ Let’s just stay
here and look at things. Everything’s so beautiful.”
It was. The sun was setting in red splendour
over the gray and purple hills, and the canal lay
164
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
smooth and shiny in the shadow — no ripple
broke its surface. It was like a gray satin ribbon
between the dusky green silk of the meadows that
were on each side of its banks.
“ It’s all right,” said Peter, “ but somehow I
can always see how pretty things are much better
when I’ve something to do. Let’s get down
on to the tow-path and fish from there.”
Phyllis and Bobbie remembered how the boys
on the canal-boats had thrown coal at them, and
they said so.
« Oh, nonsense,” said Peter. « There aren’t
any boys here now. If there were, I’d fight
them.”
Peter’s sisters were kind enough not to remind
him how he had not fought the boys when last
coal had been thrown. Instead they said, “ All
right, then,” and cautiously climbed down the
steep bank to the towing-path. The line was
carefully bated, and for half an hour they fished
patiently and in vain. Not a single nibble came
to nourish hope in their hearts.
All eyes were intent on the sluggish waters
that earnestly pretended they had never harboured,
a single minnow when a loud rough shout made
them start.
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165
“ Hi ! ” said the shout, in most disagreeable tones,
“ get out of that, can’t you ? ”
An old white horse coming along the towing-
path was within half a dozen yards of them.
They sprang to their feet and hastily climbed up
the bank.
“We’ll slip down again when they’ve gone by,”
said Bobbie.
But, alas, the barge, after the manner of barges,
stopped under the bridge.
“ She’s going to anchor,” said Peter ; “ just our
luck ! ”
The barge did not anchor, because an anchor
is not part of a canal-boat’s furniture, but she was
moored with ropes fore and aft — and the ropes
were made fast to the palings and to crowbars
driven into the ground.
“ What you staring at ? ” growled the Bargee,
crossly.
“We weren’t staring,” said Bobbie; “we
wouldn’t be so rude.”
“ Rude be blessed,” said the man ; “ get along
with you ! ”
“ Get along yourself,” said Peter. He remem-
bered what he had said about fighting boys, and,
besides, he felt safe halfway up the bank. “ We’ve
as much right here as any one else.”
166
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Oh, ’ ave you, indeed ? ” said the man. “ We’ll
soon see about that.” And he came across his
deck and began to climb down the side of his
barge.
“ Oh, come away, Peter, come away ! ” said
Bobbie and Phyllis, in agonized unison.
“ Not me,” said Peter, “ but you'd better.”
The girls climbed to the top of the bank and
stood ready to bolt for home as soon as they saw
their brother out of danger. The way home lay
all down hill. They knew that they all ran well.
The Bargee did not look as if he did. He was
red-faced, heavy, and beefy.
But as soon as his foot was on the towing-path
the children saw that they had misjudged him.
He made one spring up the bank, and caught
Peter by the leg, dragged him down — set him on
his feet with a shake — took him by the ear — and
said sternly : —
Now, then, what do you mean by it ? Don’t
you know these ’ere waters is preserved ? You
ain’t no right catching fish ’ere — not to say noth-
ing of your precious cheek.”
Peter was always proud afterwards when he
remembered that, with the Bargee’s furious fingers
tightening on his ear, the Bargee’s crimson coun-
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN
167
tenance close to his own, the Bargee’s hot breath
on his neck, he had the courage to speak the truth.
“ I wasn't catching fish,” said Peter.
“That’s not your fault, I’ll be bound,” said the
man, giving Peter’s ear a twist — not a hard one —
but still a twist.
Peter could not say that it was. Bobbie and
Phyllis had been holding on to the railings above
and skipping with anxiety. Now suddenly Bobbie
slipped through the railings and rushed down the
bank towards Peter, so impetuously that Phyllis,
following more temperately, felt certain that her
sister’s descent would end in the waters of the
canal. And so it would have done if the Bargee
hadn’t let go of Peter’s ear — and caught her in
his jersey ed arm.
“ Who are you a-shoving of ? ” he said, setting
her on her feet.
“ Oh,” said Bobbie, breathless, “ Pm not shoving
anybody. At least, not on purpose. Do, please,
don’t be cross with Peter. Of course, if it’s your
canal, we’re sorry and we won’t any more. But
we didn’t know it was yours.”
“ Go along with you,” said the Bargee.
“Yes, we will; indeed we will,” said Bobbie,
earnestly; “but we do beg your pardon — and
168
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
really we haven’t caught a single fish. I’d tell
you directly if we had, honour bright I would.”
She held out her hands and Phyllis turned out
her little empty pocket to shew that really they
hadn’t any fish concealed about them.
“Well,” said the Bargee, more gently, “cut
along, then, and don’t you do it again, that’s
all.”
The children hurried up the bank.
“ Chuck us a coat, M’ria,” shouted the man.
And a red-haired woman in a green plaid shawl
came out from the cabin door with a baby in
her arms and threw T a coat to him. He "put it
on, climbed the bank, and slouched along across
the bridge towards the village.
“You’ll find me up at the Rose and Crown
when you’ve got the kid to sleep,” he called to
her from the bridge.
When he was out of sight the children slowly
returned. Peter insisted on this.
“ The canal may belong to him,” he said,
“ though I don’t believe it does. But the bridge
is everybody’s. Doctor Forrest told me it’s public
property. I’m not going to be bounced off the
bridge by him or any one else, so I tell you.”
Peter’s ear was still sore and so were his
feelings.
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN
169
The girls followed him as gallant soldiers
might follow the leader of a forlorn hope.
“ I do wish you wouldn’t,” was all they said.
“ Go home if you’re afraid,” said Peter , « leave
me alone. Pm not afraid.”
The sound of the man’s footsteps died away
along the quiet road. The peace of the evening
was not broken by the notes of the sedge-warblers
or by the voice of the woman in the barge, sing-
ing her baby to sleep. It was a sad song she
sang. Something about Bill Bailey and how she
wanted him to come home.
The children stood leaning their arms on the
parapet of the bridge ; they were glad to be quiet
for a few minutes because all three hearts were
beating much more quickly than is at all com-
fortable.
“ I’m not going to be driven away by any old
bargeman, I’m not,” said Peter, thickly.
“ Of course not,” Phyllis said soothingly ; “ you
didn’t give in to him ! So now we might go
home, don’t you think ? ”
“JVb,” said Peter.
Nothing more was said till the woman got off
the barge, climbed the bank, and came across
the bridge.
170 /THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
She hesitated, looking at the three backs of the
children, then she said, “ Ahem.”
Peter stayed as he was, but the girls looked
round.
« You mustn’t take no notice of my Bill,” said
the woman ; “ ’is bark’s worsen ’is bite. Some of
the kids down Farley way is fair terrors. It was
them put ’is back up calling out about who ate
the puppy-pie under Marlowe bridge.”
“ Why did f ” asked Phyllis.
“ I dunno,” said the woman. “ Nobody don’t
know ! But for somehow, and I don’t know the
why nor the wherefore of it, them words is pison
to a barge-master. Don’t you take no notice.
’E won’t be back for two hours good. You
might catch a power o’ fish afore that. The
light’s good an’ all,” she added.
“ Thank you,” said Bobbie. “ You’re very kind.
Where’s your baby ? ”
“ Asleep in the cabin,” said the woman. « ’E’s
all right. Never wakes afore twelve. Reglar as a
church-clock, ’e is.”
“ I’m sorry,” said Bobbie ; “ I would have liked
to see him, close to.”
“ And a finer you never did see, Miss, though I
says it,” the woman’s face brightened as she spoke.
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN
171
“ Aren’t you afraid to leave it ? ” said Peter.
“ Lor love you, no,” said the woman ; “ who’d
hurt a little thing like ’im ? Besides, Spot’s there.
So long ! ”
The woman went away.
“ Shall we go home ? ” said Phyllis.
“ You can. I’m going to fish,” said Peter,
briefly.
“ I thought we came up here to talk about
Perk’s birthday,” said Phyllis.
“ Perk’s birthday’ll keep.”
So they got down on the towing-path again, and
Peter fished. He did not catch anything.
It was almost quite dark, the girls were getting
tired, and, as Bobbie said, it was past bed-time,
when suddenly Phyllis cried, “ What’s that ? ”
And she pointed to the canal-boat. Smoke was
coming from the chimney of the cabin, had indeed
been curling softly into the soft evening air all the
time — but now other wreaths of smoke were ris-
ing, and these were from the cabin door.
“ It’s on fire — that’s all,” said Peter, calmly.
“ Serve him right.”
“ Oh — how can you ? ” cried Phyllis. “ Think
of the poor dear dog.”
“ The Baby J ” screamed Bobbie.
172
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
In an instant all three made for the barge.
Her mooring ropes were slack, and the little
breeze, hardly streng enough to be felt, had yet
been strong enough to drift her stern against the
bank. Bobbie was first — then came Peter, and it
was Peter who slipped and fell. He went into the
canal up to his neck, and his feet could not feel the
bottom, but his arm was on the edge of the barge.
Phyllis caught at his hair. It hurt, but it helped
him to get out. Next minute he had leaped on to
the barge, Phyllis following.
“ Not you ! ” he shouted to Bobbie ; “ Me, because
Pm wet.”
He caught up with Bobbie at the cabin door,
and flung her aside very roughly indeed ; if they
had been playing, such roughness would have made
Bobbie weep tears of rage and pain. Now, though
he flung her on to the edge of the hold, so that her
knee and her elbow were grazed and bruised, she
only cried : —
“ No — not you — Me” and struggled up again.
But not quickly enough.
Peter had already gone down two of the cabin
steps into the cloud of thick smoke. He stopped,
remembered all he had ever heard of fires, pulled
his soaked handkerchief out of his breast pocket
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN 173
and tied it over his mouth. As he pulled it out he
said : —
“ It’s all right, hardly any fire at all.”
And this, though he thought it was a lie, was
rather good of Peter. It was meant to keep
Bobbie from rushing after him into danger. Of
course it didn’t.
The cabin glowed red. A paraffin lamp was
burning calmly in an orange mist.
“ Hi,” said Peter, lifting the handkerchief from
his mouth for a moment. “ Hi, Baby — where are
you ? ” He choked.
“ Oh, let me go,” cried Bobbie, close behind him.
Peter pushed her back more roughly than before,
and went on.
Now what would have happened if the baby
hadn’t cried I don’t know — but just at that
moment it did cry. Peter felt his w T ay through
the dark smoke, found something small and soft
and warm and alive, picked it up and backed out,
nearly tumbling over Bobbie who was close behind.
A dog snapped at his leg — tried to bark, choked.
“ I’ve got the kid,” said Peter, tearing off the
handkerchief and staggering on to the deck.
Bobbie caught at the place where the bark came
from, and her hands met on the fat back of a
174
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
moth-haired dog. It turned and fastened its
teeth on her hand, but very gently, as much as to
say: —
“ I’m bound to bark and bite if strangers come
into my master’s cabin, but I know you mean well,
so I won’t really bite.”
Bobbie dropped the dog.
“ All right, old man. Good dog,” said she.
“Here — give me the baby, Peter; you’re so wet
you’ll give it cold.”
Peter was only too glad to hand over the strange
little bundle that squirmed and whimpered in his
arms.
“Now,” said Bobbie, quickly, “you run straight
to the Rose and Crown and tell them. Phil and I
will stay here with the precious. Hush, then, a
dear, a duck, a darling ! Go now , Peter ! Run ! ”
“ I can’t run in these things,” said Peter, firmly ;
“ they’re as heavy as lead. I’ll walk.”
« Then Til run,” said Bobbie. “ Get on the bank,
Phil, and I’ll hand you the dear.”
The baby was carefully handed. Phyllis sat
down on the bank and tried to hush the baby.
Peter wrung the water from his sleeves and
knicker-bocker legs as well as he could, and it was
Bobbie who ran like the wind across the bridge
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN
175
and up the long white quiet twilit road towards the
Rose and Crown.
There is a nice old-fashioned room at the Rose
and Crown where Bargees and their wives sit of an
evening drinking their supper beer, and toasting
their supper cheese at a glowing basketful of coals
that sticks out into the room under a great hooded
chimney and is warmer and prettier and more
comforting than any other fireplace / eve r saw.
There was a pleasant party of barge people
round the fire. You might not have thought it
pleasant, but they did ; for they were all friends or
acquaintances, and they liked the same sort of
things, and talked the same sort of talk. This is
the real secret of pleasant society. The Bargee
Bill, whom the children had found so disagreeable,
was considered excellent company by his mates.
He was telling a tale of his own wrongs — always a
thrilling subject. It was his barge he was speaking.
“ And ’e sent down word ‘ paint her insidehout,’
not namin’ no color, d’ye see ? So I gets a lotter
green paint and I paints her stern to stern, and I
tell yer she looked A 1. Then ’0 comes along and
’e says, ‘Wot yer paint ’er all one colour for?’ ’e
says. And I says, says I, ‘ Cause I thought she’d
look fust-rate says I, ‘and I think so still.’ An’
176
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
he says ‘ Dew yer ? Then ye can just pay for the
bloomin’ paint yerself,’ says he. An’ I ’ad to,
too.” A murmur of sympathy ran round the room.
Breaking noisily in on it came Bobbie. She burst
open the swing door — crying breathlessly : —
“ Bill ! I want Bill the Bargeman.”
There was a stupefied silence. Pots of beer
were held in mid-air, paralysed on their way to
thirsty mouths.
“ Oh,” said Bobbie, seeing the bargewoman and
making for her. “ Your barge cabin’s on fire. Go
quickly.”
The woman started to her feet, and put a big
red hand to her waist, on the left side, where
your heart seems to be when you are frightened or
miserable.
“ Reginald Horace ! ” she cried in a terrible voice ;
“ my Reginald Horace ! ”
“ All right,” said Bobbie, “if you mean the
baby ; got him out safe. Dog, too.” She had no
breath for more except, “ Go on — it’s all alight.”
Then she sank on the ale-house bench and tried
to get that breath of relief after running which
people call the “second wind.” But she felt as
though she would never breathe again.
Bill the Bargee rose slowly and heavily. But his
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN
177
wife was a hundred yards up the road before he
had quite understood what was the matter.
Phyllis, shivering by the canal side, had hardly
heard the quick approaching feet before the woman
had flung herself on the railing, rolled down the
bank, and snatched the baby from her.
“Don’t,” said Phyllis, reproachfully; “Pd just
got him to sleep.”
########
Bill came up later talking in a language with
which the children were wholly unfamiliar. He
leaped on to the barge and dipped up pails of
water. Peter helped him and they put out the
fire. Phyllis, the bargewoman, and the baby —
and presently Bobby, too, — cuddled together in a
heap on the bank.
“ Lord help me, if it was me left anything as
could catch alight,” said the woman again and again.
But it wasn’t she. It was Bill the Bargeman,
who had knocked his pipe out and the red ash had
fallen on the hearth-rug, and smouldered there and
at last broken into flame. Though a stern man he
was just. He did not blame his wife for what
was his own fault as many bargemen, and other
men, too, would have done.
########
N
178
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Mother was half wild with anxiety when at last
the three children turned up at Three Chimneys,
all very wet by now, for Peter seemed to have
come off on the others. But when she had dis-
entangled the truth of what had happened from
their mixed and incoherent narrative, she owned
that they had done quite right, and could not pos-
sibly have done otherwise. Nor did she put any
obstacles in the way of their accepting the cordial
invitation with w T hich the bargeman had parted
from them.
“ Ye be here at seven to-morrow,” he had said,
“and I’ll take you the entire trip to Farley and
back, so I will, and not a penny to pay. Nineteen
locks ! ”
They did not know what locks were ; but they
were at the bridge at seven, with bread and cheese
and half a soda cake, and quite a quarter of a leg
of mutton in a basket.
It was a glorious day. The old white horse
strained at the ropes, the barge glided smoothly
and steadily through the still water. The sky was
blue overhead. Mr. Bill was as nice as any one
could possibly be. No one would have thought
that he could be the same man who had held Peter
by the ear. As for Mrs. Bill, she had always been
THE AMATEUR FIREMAN
179
nice, as Bobbie said, and so had the baby, and even
Spot, who might have bitten them quite badly if
he had liked.
“ It was simply ripping, Mother,” said Peter,
when they reached home very happy, very tired,
and very dirty, “ right over that glorious aqueduct.
And locks — you don’t know what they’re like.
You sink into the ground and then when you feel
you’re never going to stop going down, two great
great black gates open"slowly, slowly — you go out,
and there you are on the canal just like you were
before.”
“ I know,” said Mother, “ there are locks on the
Thames. Father and I used to go on the river at
. Marlowe before we were married.”
“ And the dear, darling, ducky baby,” said Bob-
bie ; “ it let me nurse it for ages and ages — and it
was so good. Mother, I wish we had a baby to
play with.”
“ And everybody was so nice to us,” said Phyllis,
“ everybody we met. And they say we may fish
whenever we like. And Bill is going to shew us
the way next time he’s in these parts. He says
we don’t know really.”
“He said you didn’t know,” said Peter; “but,
Mother, he said he’d tell all the bargees up and
180
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
down the canal that we were the real, right sort,
and they were to treat us like good pals, as we
were.”
“ So then I said,” Phyllis interrupted, “ we’d
always each wear a red ribbon when we went
fishing by the canal, so they’d know it was Us ,
and we were the real, right sort, and be nice
to us ! ”
“ So you’ve made another lot of friends,”
said Mother ; “ first the railway and then the
canal ! ”
“ Oh, yes,” said Bobbie ; “ I think every one in
the world is friends if you can only get them to see
you don’t want to be -im-friends.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Mother; and she
sighed. “Come, Chicks. It’s high Bed-time.”
“Yes,” said Phyllis. “O dear — and we went
up there to talk about what we’d do for Perks’s
birthday. And we haven’t talked a single thing
about it !”
“No more we have,” said Bobbie; “but Peter’s
saved Reginald Horace’s life. I think that’s about
good enough for one evening.”
“ Bobbie would have saved him if I hadn’t
knocked her down ; twice I did,” said Peter,
loyally.
THE AMATEUR FIREMEN
181
“ So would I,” said Phyllis, “ if I’d known what
to do.”
“ Yes,” said Mother, “ you’ve saved a little child’s
life. I do think that’s enough for one evening.
Oh, my darlings, thank God you're all safe ! ”
CHAPTER IX
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
It was breakfast-time. Mother’s face was very
bright as she poured the milk and ladled out the
porridge.
“ I’ve sold another story, Chickies,” she said ;
“ the one about the King of the Mussels, so there’ll
be buns for tea. You can go and get them as soon
as they’re baked. About eleven, isn’t it ? ”
Peter, Phyllis, and Bobbie exchanged glances
with each other, six glances in all. Then Bobbie
said : —
“ Mother, would you mind if we didn’t have the
buns for tea to-night, but on the fifteenth ? That’s
next Thursday.”
“ I don’t mind when you have them, dear,” said
Mother, “ but why ? ”
“ Because it’s Perks’s birthday,” said Bobbie ;
“he’s thirty-two, and he says he doesn’t keep his
birthday any more, because he’s got other things
to keep — not rabbits or secrets — but the kids
and the missus.”
182
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
183
“You mean his wife and children,” said Mother.
“Yes,” said Phyllis; “it’s the * same thing,
isn’t it?”
“ And we thought we’d make a nice birthday
for him. He’s been so awfully jolly decent to us,
you know, Mother,” said Peter, “and we agreed
that next bun-day we’d ask you if we could.”
“ But suppose there hadn’t been a bun-day be-
fore the fifteenth ? ” said Mother.
“ Oh, then, we meant to ask you to let us anti —
antipate it, and go without when the bun-day
came.”
“ Anticipate,” said Mother, “ I see. Certainly,
it would be nice to put his name on the buns with
pink sugar, wouldn’t it ? ”
“ Perks,” said Peter ;“ it’s not a pretty name.”
“ His other name’s Albert,” said Phyllis ; « I
asked him once.”
“We might put A. P.,” said Mother; “I’ll show
you how when the day comes.”
This was all very well as far as it went. But
even fourteen halfpenny buns with A. P. on them
in pink sugar do not of themselves make a very
grand celebration.
“There are always flowers, of course,” said
Bobbie, later, when a really earnest council was
184
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
being held on the subject in the hay -loft where
the broken chaff-cutting machine was, and the row
of holes to drop hay through into the hay-racks
over the mangers of the stables below.
« He’s got lots of flowers of his own,” said Peter.
“ But it’s always nice to have them given you,”
said Bobbie, “however many you’ve got of your
own. We can use flowers for trimmings to the
birthday. But there must be something to trim
besides buns.”
“ Let’s all be quiet and think,” said Phyllis ; “ no
one’s to speak until it’s thought of something. ”
So they were all quiet and so very still that a
brown rat thought that there w^as no one in the
loft and came out very boldly. When Bobbie
sneezed the rat was quite shocked and hurried
away, for he said that a hay-loft where such things
could happen was no place for a respectable
middle-aged rat that liked a quiet life.
“ Hooray ! ” cried Peter, suddenly, “ I’ve got it.”
He jumped up and kicked at the loose hay.
“ What ? ” said the others, eagerly.
“ Why, Perks is so nice to everybody. There
must be lots of people in the village who’d like to
help to make him a birthday. Let’s go round and
ask everybody.”
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
185
“ Mother said we weren’t to ask people for
things, ” said Bobby, doubtfully.
“ For ourselves, she meant, silly, not for other
people. I’ll ask the old gentlemen, too. You see
if I don’t,” said Peter.
“ Let’s ask Mother first,” said Bobbie.
“ Oh, what’s the use of bothering Mother about
every little thing ? ” said Peter, “ especially when
she’s busy. Come on. Let’s go down to the vil-
lage now and begin.”
So they went. The old lady at the Post-office
said she didn’t see why Perks should have a birth-
day any more than any one else.
“ No,” said Bobbie, “ I should like every one to
have one. Only we know when his is.”
“ Mine’s to-morrow,” said the old lady, “ and
much notice any one will take of it. Go along
with you.”
So they went.
And some people were kind, and some were
crusty. And some would give and some would
not. It is rather difficult work asking for things,
even for other people, as you have no doubt found
it if you have ever tried it.
When the children got home and counted up
what had been given and what had been promised,
186
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
they felt that for the first day it was not so bad.
Peter wrote down the lists of the things in the
little pocket-book where he kept the numbers of his
engines. These were the lists.
Given.
A tobacco pipe from the sweet shop.
Half a pound of tea from the grocer’s.
A woolen scarf slightly faded from the draper’s?
which was the other side of the grocer’s.
A stuffed squirrel from the Doctor.
Promised.
A piece of meat from the butcher.
Six fresh eggs from the woman who lived in the
old turnpike cottage.
A piece of honey-comb and six bootlaces from
the cobbler, and an iron shovel from the
blacksmith’s.
Very early next morning Bobbie got up and
woke Phyllis. This had been agreed on between
them. They had not told Peter because they
thought he would think it silly. But they told
him afterwards, when it had turned out all
right.
They cut a big bunch of roses, and put it in
a basket with the needle-book that Phyllis had
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
187
made for Bobbie on her birthday, and a very
pretty blue necktie of Phyllis’s. Then they wrote
on a paper, “ For Mrs. Ransome, with our best
love because it is her birthday,” and they put
the paper in the basket, and they took it to the
Post-office, and went in and put it on the
counter and ran away before the old woman at
the Post-office had time to get into her shop.
When they got home Peter had grown confi-
dential over helping Mother to get the breakfast
and had told her their plans.
“ There’s no harm in it,” said Mother, “ but
it depends how you do it. I only hope he won’t
be offended and think it’s charity. Poor people
are very proud, you know.”
“ It isn’t because he’s poor,” said Phyllis ; “ it’s
because we’re fond of him.”
“ I’ll find some things that Phyllis has outgrown,”
said Mother, “ if you’re quite sure you can give
them to him without his being offended. I
should like to do some little thing for him
because he’s been so kind to you. I can’t do
much because we’re poor ourselves. What are
you writing, Bobbie ? ”
“ Nothing particular,” said Bobbie, who had
suddenly begun to scribble. “ Pm sure he’d like
the things, Mother.”
188
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
The morning of the fifteenth was spent very
happily in getting the buns and watching Mother
make A. P. on them with pink sugar. You know
how it’s done, of course ? You beat up whites of
eggs and mix powdered sugar with them, and put
a few drops of cochineal. And then you make a
cone of clean, white paper with a little hole at the
pointed end, and put the pink egg-sugar in at the
big end. It runs slowly out at the pointed end,
and you write the letters with it just as though it
were a great fat pen full of pink sugar-ink.
The buns looked beautiful with A. P. on every
one, and, when they were put in a cool oven to set
the sugar, the children went up to the village to
collect the honey and the shovel and the other
promised things.
The old lady at the Post-office was standing on
her doorstep. The children said “ Good morning,”
politely, as they passed.
“ Here, stop a bit,” she said.
So they stopped.
“ Those roses,” said she.
“ Did you like them ? ” said Phyllis ; “ they were
as fresh as fresh. I made the needle-book, but it
was Bobbie’s present.” She skipped joyously as
she spoke.
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
189
“ Here’s your basket,” said the Post-office
woman. She went in and brought out the basket.
It was full of fat, red gooseberries.
“ I dare say Perks’s children would like them,”
said she.
“ You are an old dear,” said Phyllis, throwing her
arms around the old lady’s fat waist. “ Perks
will be pleased.”
“ He won’t be half so pleased as I was with
your needle-book and the tie and the pretty flowers
and all,” said the old lady, patting Phyllis’s
shoulder. “ You’re good little souls, that you are.
Look here. I’ve got a pram round the back in the
wood-lodge. It was got for my Emmie’s first,
that didn’t live but six months, and she never had
but that one. I’d like Mrs. Perks to have it. It
’ud be a help to her with that great boy of lier’s.
Will you take it along ? ”
“ Oh! ” said all the children together.
When Mrs. Ransome had got out the perambula-
tor and taken off the careful papers that covered
it, and dusted it all over, she said : —
“ Well, there it is. I don’t know but what I’d
have given it to her before if I’d thought of it.
Only I didn’t quite know if she’d accept of it from
me. You tell her it was my Emmie’s little one’s
pram — ”
190
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Oh, isn't it nice to think there is going to be a
real live baby in it again ! ”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Ransome, sighing, and then
laughing ; “ here, I’ll give you some peppermint
cushions for the little ones, and then you run along
before I give you the roof off my head and the
clothes off my back.”
All the things that had been collected for Perks
were packed into the perambulator, and at half-
past three Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis wheeled
it down to the little yellow house where Perks
lived.
The house was very tidy. On the window ledge
was a jug of wild-flowers, big daises, and red
sorrel, and feathery, flowery grasses.
There was a sound of splashing from the wash-
house, and a partly washed boy put his head
round the door.
“ Mother’s a-changing of herself,” he said.
“ Down in a minute,” a voice sounded down the
narrow, freshly scrubbed stairs.
The children waited. Next moment the stairs
creaked and Mrs. Perks came down, buttoning her
bodice. Her hair was brushed very smooth and
tight, and her face shone with soap and water.
“ Pm a bit late changing, Miss,” she said to Bob-
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
191
bie, “ owing to me having had a extry clean-up
to-day, along o’ Perks happening to name its being
his birthday. I don’t know what put it into his
head to think of such a thing. We keeps the
children’s birthdays, of course ; but him and me —
we’re too old for such like, as a general rule.”
“We knew it was his birthday,” said Peter,
“ and we’ve got some presents for him outside in
the perambulator.”
As the presents were being unpacked Mrs. Perks
gasped. When they were all unpacked, she sur-
prised and horrified the children by sitting sud-
denly down on a wooden chair and bursting into
tears.
“Oh, don’t!” said everybody; “oh, please
don’t ! ” And Peter added, perhaps a little im-
patiently : “ What on earth is the matter ? You
don’t mean to say you don’t like it ? ”
Mrs. Perks only sobbed. The Perks children,
now as shiny-faced as any one could wish, stood
at the wash-house door, and scowled at the in-
truders. There was a silence, an awkward
silence.
« Don't you like it ? ” said Peter, again, while his
sisters patted Mrs. Perks on the back.
She stopped crying as suddenly as she had begun.
192
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ There, there, don’t you mind me. Pm all
right ! ” she said. “ Like it ? Why, it’s a birth-
day such as Perks never ’ad, not even when ’e was
a boy and stayed with his uncle, who was a corn
chandler in his own account. He failed after-
wards. Like it ? Oh — ” and then she went on
and said all sorts of things that I won’t write
down, because I am sure that Peter and Bobbie
and Phyllis would not like me to. Their ears got
hotter and hotter, and their faces redder and
redder at the kind things Mrs. Perks said. They
felt they had done nothing to deserve all this
praise.
At last Peter said : “ Look here, we’re glad you’re
pleased. But if you go on saying things like that,
we must go home. And we did want to stay and
see if Mr. Perks is pleased, too. But we can’t
stand this.”
“ I won’t say another single word,” said Mrs.
Perks, with a beaming face, “ but that needn’t
stop me thinking, need it ? For if ever — ”
“ Can we have a plate for the buns ? ” Bobbie
asked abruptly. And then Mrs. Perks hastily laid
the table for tea, and the buns and the honey and
the gooseberries were displayed on plates, and the
roses were put in two glass jam jars, and the
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
193
tea table looked, as Mrs. Perks said, “ fit for a
Prince.”
“ To think ! ” she said, “ me getting the place tidy
early, and the little ’uns getting the wild-flowers
and all — when never did I think there’d be any-
thing more for him except the ounce of his pet
particular that I got o’ Saturday and been saving
up for ’im ever since. Bless us ! ’e is early ! ”
Perks had indeed unlatched the latch of the
little front gate.
“ Oh,” whispered Bobbie, “ let’s hide in the back
kitchen, and you tell him about it. But give him
the tobacco first, because you got it for him. And
when you’ve told him, we’ll all come in and shout,
6 Many happy returns ! ’ ”
It was a very nice plan, but it did not quite
come off. To begin with, there was only just
time for Peter and Bobbie and Phyllis to rush into
the wash-house, pushing the young and open-
mouthed Perks children in front of them. There
was not time to shut the door, so that, without at
all meaning it, they had to listen to what went on
in the kitchen. The wash-house was a tight fit for
the Perks children and the Three Chimneys chil-
dren, as well as all the wash-house’s proper fur-
niture, including a mangle and copper,
o
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Hullo, old woman ! ” they heard Mr. Perks’s
voice say ; “ here’s a pretty set out ! ”
“ It’s your birthday tea, Bert,” said Mrs. Perks,
“and here’s a ounce of your extry particular. I
got it o’ Saturday along o’ your happening to
remember it was your birthday to-day.”
“ Good old girl ! ” said Mr. Perks, and there was
a sound of a kiss.
“ But what’s that pram doing here ? And
what’s all these bundles ? And where did you
get the sweetstuff, and — ”
The children did not hear what Mrs. Perks
replied, because just then Bobbie gave a start, put
her hand in her pocket, and all her body grew stiff
with horror.
“ Oh ! ” she whispered to the others, “ whatever
shall we do ? I forgot to put the labels on any of
the strings ! He won’t know what’s from who.
He’ll think it’s all us, and that we’re trying to be
grand or charitable or something horrid.”
“ Hush ! ” said Peter.
And then they heard the voice of Mr. Perks,
loud and rather angry.
“ I don’t care,” he said ; “ I won’t stand it, and
so I tell you straight.”
“ But,” said Mrs. Perks, “ it’s them children you
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
195
make such a fuss about — the children from the
Three Chimneys.”
“ I don’t care,” said Perks, firmly, “ not if it was
a angel from Heaven. We’ve got on all right all
these years and no favours asked. I’m not going
to begin these sort of charity goings-on at my time
of life, so don’t you think it, Nell.”
“ Oh, hush ! ” said poor Mrs. Perks ; “ Bert, shut
your silly tongue, for goodness’ sake. The all
three of ’ems in the wash-house a-listening to
every word you speaks.”
“ Then I’ll give them something to listen to,”
said the angry Perks ; I’ve spoke my mind to
them afore now, and I’ll do it again,” he added,
and f he took two strides to the wash-house door,
and flung it wide open — as wide, that is, as
it would go, with the tightly packed children
behind it.
“ Come out,” said Perks, “ come out and tell me
what you mean by it. ’Ave I ever complained
to you of being short, as you comes this charity
lay over me ? ”
“ Oh ! ” said Phyllis, “ I thought you’d be so
pleased ; I’ll never try to be kind to any one
else as long as I live. No, I won’t, not never.”
She burst into tears.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“We didn’t mean any harm,” said Peter.
“ It ain’t what you means so much as what you
does,” said Perks.
“ Oh, don't ! ” cried Bobbie, trying hard to be
braver than Phyllis, and to find more words than
Peter had done for explaining in. “We thought
you’d love it. We always have things on our
birthdays.”
“ Oh, yes,” said Perks, “ your own relations ;
that’s different.”
“ Oh, no,” Bobbie answered. “ Not our own
relations. All the servants always gave us things
at home, and us to them when it was their birth-
days. And when it was mine, and Mother gave
me the brooch like a buttercup, Mrs. Viney gave
me two lovely glass pots, and nobody thought
she was coming the charity lay over us.”
“ If it had been glass pots here,” said Perks,
“ I wouldn’t ha’ said so much. It’s there being
all this heap, and heaps of things I can’t stand.
No — nor won’t neither.”
“ But they’re not all from us — ” said Peter,
“only we forgot to put the labels on. They’re
from all sorts of people in the village.”
“ Who put ’em up to it, I’d like to know ? ”
asked Perks.
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
197
“ Why, we did,” sniffed Phyllis.
Perks sat down heavily in the elbow-chair and
looked at them with what Bobbie afterwards
described as withering glances of gloomy despair.
“ So you’ve been round telling the neighbours
we can’t make both ends meet ? Well, now
you’ve disgraced us as deep as you can in the
neighbourhood, you can just take the whole bag
of tricks back were it come from. Very much
obliged, I’m sure. I don’t doubt but what you
meant it kind, but I’d rather not be acquainted
with you any longer if it’s all the same to you.”
He deliberately turned the chair round so that
his back was turned to the children. The legs
of the chair grated on the brick floor, and that
was the only sound that broke the silence.
Then suddenly Bobbie spoke.
“ Look here,” she said, “ this is most awful.”
“ That’s what I says,” said Perks, not turning
round.
“ Look here,” said Bobbie, desperately, “ we’ll
go if you like — and you needn’t be friends with
us any more if you don’t want, but — ”
“ We shall always be friends with you , however
nasty you are to us,” sniffed Phyllis, wildly.
“ Be quiet,” said Peter, in a fierce aside.
198
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ But before we go,” Bobbie went on desper-
ately, “do let us show you the labels we wrote
to put on the things.”
« I don’t want to see no labels,” said Perks,
« except proper luggage ones in my own walk
of life. Do you think I’ve kept respectable and
outer debt on what I gets, and her having to
take in washing, to be give away for a laughing-
stock to all the neighbours ? ”
“Laughing.?” said Peter; “you don’t know.”
“You’re a very hasty gentleman,” whined Phyl-
lis ; “ you know you were wrong once before, about
us not telling you the secret about the Russian.
Do let Bobbie tell you about the labels ? ”
“ Well. Go ahead ! ” said Perks, grudgingly.
“ Well, then,” said Bobbie, fumbling miserably,
yet not without hope, in her tightly stuffed pocket,
“ we wrote down all the things everybody said
when they gave us the things, with the people’s
names, because Mother said we ought to be care-
ful — because — but I wrote down when she said
— and you’ll see.”
But Bobbie could not read the labels just at
once. She had to swallow once or twice before
she could begin.
Mrs. Perks had been crying steadily ever since
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
199
her husband had opened the wash-house door.
Now she caught her breath, choked, and said : —
“ Don’t you upset yourself, Missy. I know you
meant it kind if he doesn’t.”
“May I read the labels?” said Bobbie, crying
on to the slips as she tried to sort them. « Mother’s
first. It says : —
44 4 Little Clothes for Mrs. Perks’s children.’
Mother said, 4 I’ll find some of Phyllis’s things
that she’s grown out of if you’re quite sure Mr.
Perks wouldn’t be offended and think it’s meant
for charity. I’d like to do some little thing for
him, because he’s so kind to you. I can’t do much
because we’re poor ourselves.’ ”
Bobbie paused.
44 That’s all right,” said Perks, 44 your Ma’s a
born lady. We’ll keep the little frocks, and what
not, Nell.”
44 Then there’s the perambulator and the goose-
berries, and the sweets,” said Bobbie, 44 they’re from
Mrs. Ransome. She said : 4 1 daresay Mr. Perks’s
children would like the sweets. And the peram-
bulator was got for my Emmie’s first — it didn’t
live but six months, and she’s never had but that
one. I’d like Mrs. Perks to have it. It would be
a help with her fine boy. I’d have given it before
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
if I’d been sure she’d accept of it from me.’ She
told me to tell you,” Bobbie added, “ that it was
her Emmie’s little one’s pram.”
“ I can’t send that pram back, Bert,” said Mrs.
Perks, firmly, “ and I won’t. So don’t you ask
me — ”
“ I’m not a-asking anything,” said Perks, gruffly.
“Then the shovel,” said Bobbie. “Mr. James
made it for you himself. And he said — where is
it? Oh, yes, here! He said, ‘ You tell Mr. Perks
it’s a pleasure to make a little trifle for a man
as is so much respected,’ and then he said he
wished he could shoe your children and his own
children, like they do the horses, because, well,
he knew what shoe leather was.”
“James is a good enough chap,” said Perks.
“ Then the honey,” said Bobbie, in haste, “ and
the bootlaces. He said he respected a man that
paid his way — and the butcher said the same.
And the old turnpike woman said many was the
time you’d lent her a hand with her garden when
you were a lad — and things like that came home
to roost — I don’t know what she meant. And
everybody who gave anything said they liked you,
and it was a very good idea of ours ; and nobody
said anything about charity or anything horrid
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
201
like that. And the old gentleman gave Peter a
gold pound for you, and said you were a man who
knew your work. And I thought you’d love to
know how fond people are of you, and I never
was so unhappy in my life. Good-by. I hope
you’ll forgive us some day — ”
She could say no more, and she turned to go.
“ Stop,” said Perks, still with his back to them ;
“ I take back every word I’ve said contrary to
what you’d wish. Nell, set on the kettle.”
“We’ll take the things away if you’re unhappy
about them,” said Peter; “but I think everybody’ll
be most awfully disappointed, as well as us.”
“ I’m not unhappy about them,” said Perks ; “ I
don’t know,” he added, suddenly wheeling the
chair round and showing a very odd-looking
screwed-up face, .“I don’t know as ever I was
better pleased. Not so much with the presents —
though they’re an A 1 collection — but the kind
respect of our neighbours. That’s worth having,
eh, Nell?”
“ I think it’s all worth having,” said Mrs. Perks,
“and you’ve made a most ridiculous fuss about
nothing, Bert, if you ask me.”
“ No, I ain’t,” said Perks, firmly ; “if a man
didn’t respect hisself, no one wouldn’t do it for
him.”
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ But every one respects you,” said Bobbie ;
“ they all said so.”
“I knew you’d like it when you really under-
stood,” said Phyllis, brightly.
“ Hump ! You’ll stay to tea ? ” said Mr. Perks.
Later on Peter proposed Mr. Perks’s health.
And Mr. Perks proposed a toast, also honoured
in tea, and the toast was, “May the garland of
friendship be ever green,” which was much more
poetical than any one had expected from him.
#####*##
“Jolly good little kids, those,” said Mr. Perks
to his wife as they went to bed.
“ Oh, they’re all right, bless their hearts,” said
his wife; “it’s you that’s the aggravatingest old
thing that ever was. I was ashamed of you — I
tell you — ”
“You didn’t need to be, old gal. I climbed
down handsome soon as I understood it wasn’t
charity. But charity’s what I never did abide,
and won’t neither.”
*##*###*
All sorts of people were made happy by that
birthday party. Mr. Perks and Mrs. Perks and
the little Perkses by all the nice things and by the
kind thoughts of their neighbours ; the Three
THE PRIDE OF PERKS
203
Chimneys children by the success, undoubted
though unexpectedly delayed, of their plan ; and
Mrs. Ransome every time she saw the fat Perks
baby in the perambulator. Mrs. Perks made quite
a round of visits to thank people for their kind
birthday presents, and after each visit felt that she
had a better friend than she had thought.
“Yes,” said Perks, reflectively, “it’s not so much
what you does as what you means ; that’s what I
say. Now if it had been charity.”
“Oh, drat charity,” said Mrs. Perks; “nobody
won’t offer you charity, Bert, however much you
was to want it, I lay. That was just friendliness,
that was.”
When the clergyman called on Mrs. Perks, she
told him all about it. “ It was friendliness, wasn’t
it, Sir ? ” said she.
“ I think,” said the clergyman, “ it was what
is sometimes called loving-kindness.”
So you see it was all right in the end. But
if one does that sort of thing, one has to be care-
ful to do it in the right way. For, as Mr. Perks
said, when he had time to think it over, “ It’s
not so much what you do, as what you mean.”
CHAPTER X
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
When they first went to live at Three
Chimneys, the children had talked a great deal
about their Father, and had asked a great many
questions about him, and what he was doing and
where he was and when he would come horn
Mother always answered their questions as weu
as she could. But as the time went on they
grew to speak less of him. Bobbie had felt almost
from the first that for some strange miserable
reason these questions hurt Mother and made her
sad. And little by little the others came to have
this feeling, too, though they could not have put
it into words.
One day when Mother was working so hard
that she could not leave off even for ten minutes,
Bobbie carried up her tea to the big bare room
that they called Mother’s workshop. It had
hardly any furniture. Just a table and a chair
and a rug. But always big pots of flowers on
204
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
205
the window-sills and on the mantlepiece. The
children saw to that. And from the three long
uncurtained windows the beautiful stretch of
meadow and moorland, the far violet of the hills,
and the unchanging changefulness of cloud and
sky.
“ Here’s your tea, Mother-love,” said Bobbie ;
“ do drink it while it’s hot.”
Mother laid down her pen among the pages
that were scattered all over the table, pages covered
with her writing, which was almost as plain as
print, and much prettier. She ran her hands
into her hair, as if she were going to pull it out
by handfuls.
“ Poor dear head,” said Bobbie, “does it ache?”
“ No — yes — not much,” said Mother. “ Bob-
bie, do you think Peter and Phil are forgetting
Father?”
“ Nof said Bobbie, indignantly. “ Why ? ”
“ You none of you ever speak of him now.”
Bobbie 'stood first on one leg and then on the
other.
“We often talk about him when we’re by
ourselves,” she said.
“ But not to me,” said Mother. “ Why ? ”
Bobbie did not find it easy to say why.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ I — you — ” she said, and stopped. She went
over to the window and looked out.
“ Bobbie, come here,” said her Mother, and
Bobbie came.
“ Now,” said Mother, putting her arm round
Bobbie and laying her ruffled head against Bobbie’s
shoulder, “ try to tell me, dear.”
Bobbie fidgeted.
“ Tell Mother.”
“ Well, then,” said Bobbie, “ I thought you
were so unhappy about Daddy not being here, it
made you worse when I talked about him. So
I stopped doing it.”
“ And the others ? ”
“ I don’t know about the others,” said Bobbie.
“ I never said anything about that to them. But I
expect they felt the same about it as me.”
“ Bobbie dear,” said Mother, still leaning her
head against her, « I’ll tell you. Besides parting
from Father, he and I have had a great sorrow —
oh, terrible — worse than anything you can think
of, and at first it did hurt to hear you all talking
of him as if everything were just the same. But
it would be much more terrible if you were to for-
get him. That would be worse than anything.”
“ The trouble,” said Bobbie, in a very little
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
207
voice, — “ I promised I would never ask you any
questions, and I never have, have I ? But — the
trouble — it won’t last always ? ”
“ No,” said Mother, “ the worst will be over
when Father comes home to us.”
“ I wish I could comfort you,” said Bobbie.
“ Oh, my dear, do you suppose you don’t ?
What should I do without you — you and the
others ? Do you think I haven’t noticed how good
you’ve all been, not quarrelling nearly as much as
you used to — and all the little kind things you do
for me — the flowers, and cleaning my shoes, and
tearing up to make my bed before I get home to
do it myself ? ”
Bobbie had sometimes wondered whether Mother
noticed these things.
“ That’s nothing,” she said, “ to what — ”
“ I must get on with my work,” said Mother,
giving Bobbie one last squeeze. “ Don’t say any-
thing to the others ! ”
That evening in the hour before bed-time instead
of reading to the children Mother told them stories
of the games she and Father used to have when
they were children and lived near each other in the
country — tales of the adventures of Father with
Mother’s brothers when they were all boys to-
208
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
gether. Very funny stories they were, and the
children laughed as they listened.
“ Uncle Edward died before he was grown up,
didn’t he ? ” said Phyllis, as Mother lighted the
bedroom candles.
“ Yes, dear,” said Mother, “ you would have
loved him. He was such a brave boy, and so ad-
venturous. Always in mischief, and yet friends
with everybody in spite of it. And your Uncle
Reggie’s in Ceylon — yes, and Father’s away, too.
But I think they’d all like to think we’d enjoyed
talking about the things they used to do. Don’t
you think so ? ”
“ Not Uncle Edward,” said Phyllis, in a shocked
tone ; “ he’s in Heaven.”
“You don’t suppose he’s forgotten us and all
the old times, because God has taken him, any
more than I forget him. Oh, no, he remembers.
He’s only away for a little time. We shall see
him some day.”
“And Uncle Reggie — and Father, too ? ” said
Peter.
“ Yes,” said Mother. « Uncle Reggie and Father,
too. Good night, my darlings.”
“ Good night,” said every one. Bobbie hugged
her mother more closely even than usual, and
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
209
whispered in her ear, “Oh, I do love you so,
Mummy — I do — I do ”
When Bobbie came to think it all over, she tried
not to wonder what the great trouble was. But
she could not always help it. Father was not
dead — like poor Uncle Edward — Mother had
said so. And he was not ill, or Mother would
have been with him. Being poor wasn’t the
trouble. Bobbie knew it was something nearer
the heart than money could be.
“ I mustn’t try to think what it is,” she told her-
self; “no, I mustn’t. I am glad Mother noticed
about us not quarrelling so much. We’ll keep that
up.”
And alas, that very afternoon she and Peter had
what Peter called a first-class shindy.
They had not been a week at Three Chim-
neys before they had asked Mother to let them
have a piece of garden each for their very own,
and she had agreed, and the sunk border under the
peach trees had been divided into three pieces and
they were allowed to plant whatever they liked
there.
Phyllis had planted mignonette and nasturtium
and Virginia Stock in hers. The seeds came up
and though they looked just like weeds, Phyllis
210
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
believed that they would bear flowers some day.
The Virginia Stock justified her faith quite soon,
and her garden was gay with a band of bright
little flowers, pink and white and red and mauve.
“ I can’t weed for fear I pull up the wrong
things,” she used to say comfortably ; “ it saves
such a lot of work.”
Peter sowed vegetable seeds in his, — carrots and
onions and turnips. The seed was given to him
by the farmer who lived in the nice black-and-white,
wood-and-plaster house just beyond the bridge.
He kept turkeys and guinea fowls, and was a most
amiable man. But Peter’s vegetables never had
much of a chance, because he liked to use the
earth of his garden for digging canals, and making
forts and earthworks for his toy soldiers. And
the seeds of vegetables rarely come to much in a
soil that is constantly disturbed for the purposes
of war and irrigation.
Bobbie planted rose-bushes in her garden, but all
the little new leaves of the rose-bushes shrivelled
and withered, perhaps because she moved them
from the other part of the garden in May, which
is not at all the right time of year for moving
roses. But she would not own that they were
dead, and hoped on against hope, until the day
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
211
when Perks came up to see the garden, and told
her quite plainly that all her roses were as dead as
door nails.
“Only good for bonfires, Miss,” he said. “You
just dig ’em up and burn ’em, and I’ll give you
some nice fresh roots outer my garden ; pansies,
and stocks, and sweet willies, and forget-me-nots.
I’ll bring ’em along to-morrow if you get the
ground ready.”
So next day she set to work, and that happened
to be the day when Mother had praised her and
the others about not quarrelling. She moved the
rose-bushes and carried them to the other end of
the garden, where the rubbish heap was that they
meant to make a bonfire of when Guy Fawkes day
came.
Meanwhile Peter had decided to flatten out all
his forts and earthworks, with a view to making
a model of the railway-tunnel, cutting, embank-
ment, canal, aqueduct, bridges, and all.
So when Bobbie came back from her last thorny
journey with the dead rose-bushes, he had got the
rake and was using it busily.
“ I was using the rake,” said Bobbie.
“ Well, I’m using it now,” said Peter.
“ But I had it first,” said Bobbie.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Then it’s my turn now,” said Peter. And
that was how the quarrel began.
“You’re always being disagreeable about noth-
ing,” said Peter, after some heated argument.
“ I had the rake first,” said Bobbie, flushed and
defiant, holding on to its handle.
“ Don’t I tell you I said this morning I meant to
have it. Didn’t I, Phil ? ”
Phyllis said she didn’t want to be mixed up in
their rows. And instantly, of course, she was.
“ If you remember you ought to say.”
“Of course she doesn’t remember — but she
might say so.”
“ I wish I’d had a brother instead of two
whiney little kiddy sisters,” said Peter. This was
always recognised as the marking the high-water
mark of Peter’s rage.
Bobbie made the reply she always made to
it.
“ I can’t think why little boys were ever in-
vented,” and just as she said it she looked up, and
saw the three long windows of Mother’s workshop
flashing in the red rays of the sun. The sight
brought back those words of praise : —
“ You don’t quarrel like you used to do.”
“ Oh! ” cried Bobbie, just as if she had been hit,
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
213
or had caught her finger in a door, or had felt the
hideous sharp beginnings of toothache.
“ What’s the matter ? ” said Phyllis.
Bobbie wanted to say : “ Don’t let’s quarrel.
Mother hates it so,” but though she tried hard, she
couldn’t. Peter was looking too disagreeable and
insulting.
“ Take the horrid rake, then,” w~as the best she
could manage. And she suddenly let go her hold
on the handle. Peter had been holding on to it
too, firmly and pullingly, and now that the pull the
other way was suddenly stopped, he staggered and
fell over backward, the teeth of the rake between
his feet.
“ Serve you right,” said Bobbie, before she could
stop herself.
Peter lay still for half a moment — long enough
to frighten Bobbie a little. Then he frightened her
a little more, for he sat up — screamed once —
turned rather pale, and then lay back and began to
shriek, faintly but steadily. It sounded exactly
like a pig being killed a quarter of a mile off.
Mother put her head out of the window, and it
wasn’t half a minute after that she was in the
garden kneeling by the side of Peter who never for
an instant ceased to squeal.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ What happened, Bobbie ? ” Mother asked.
“ It was the rake,” said Phyllis. “ Peter was
pulling at it, so was Bobbie, and she let go and he
went over.”
“ Stop that noise, Peter,” said Mother. “ Come.
Stop at once.”
Peter used up what breath he had left in a last
squeal and stopped.
“ Now,” said Mother, “ are you hurt ? ”
“ If he was really hurt, he wouldn’t make such a
fuss,” said Bobbie, still trembling with fury ; “ he’s
not a coward ! ”
“ I think my foot’s broken off, that’s all,” said
Peter, huffily, and sat up. Then he turned quite
white. Mother put her arm round him.
“ He is hurt,” she said ; “ he’s fainted. Here,
Bobbie, sit down and take his head on your lap.”
Then Mother undid Peter’s boots. As she took
the right one off something dripped from his foot
on to the ground. It was red blood. And when
the stocking came off there were three red wounds
in Peter’s foot and ankle, where the teeth of the
rake had bitten him, and his foot was covered with
red smears.
“Run for water — a basinful,” said Mother, and
Phyllis ran. She upset most of the water out of
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
215
the basin in her haste, and had to fetch more in a
jug.
Peter did not open his eyes again till Mother had
tied her handkerchief round his foot, and she and
Bobbie had carried him in and laid him on the
brown, wooden settle in the dining room. By this
time Phyllis was halfway to the Doctor’s.
Mother sat by Peter and bathed his foot and
talked to him, and Bobbie went out and got tea
ready, and put in the kettle.
“ It’s all I can do,” she told herself. “ Oh, sup-
pose Peter should die, or be a helpless cripple for
life, or have to walk with crutches, or wear a boot
with a sole like a log of wood ! ”
She stood by the back door reflecting on these
gloomy possibilities, her eyes fixed on the water-
butt.
“ I wish I’d never been born,” she said, and she
said it out loud.
“ Why, lawk a mercy, what’s that for ? ” asked
a voice, and Perks stood before her with a wooden-
twig basket full of green-leaved things and soft,
loose earth.
“ Oh, it’s you,” she said. “ Peter’s hurt his foot
with a rake — three great gaping wounds, like
soldiers get. And it was partly my fault.”
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ That it wasn’t, I’ll go bail,” said Perks.
‘‘ Doctor seen him ? ”
“ Phyllis has gone for the Doctor.”
“ He’ll be all right ; you see if he isn’t,” said
Perks. “Why, my father’s second cousin had a
hay-fork run into him, right into his inside, and
he was right as ever in a few weeks, all except his
being a bit weak in the head afterwards, and they
did say that it was along of his getting a touch of
the sun in the hay-field, and not the fork at all.
I remember him well. A ldnd-’earted chap, but
soft, as you might say.”
Bobbie tried to let herself be cheered by this
heartening reminiscence.
“Well,” said Perks, “you won’t want to be
bothered with gardening just this minute, I dare
say. You shew me where your garden is, and
I’ll pop the bits of stuff in for you. And I’ll hang
about, if I may make so free, to see the Doctor as
he comes out and hear what he says. You cheer
up, Missie. I lay a pound he ain’t hurt, not to
speak of.”
But he was. The Doctor came and looked at
the foot and bandaged it beautifully, and said that
Peter must not put it to the ground for at least a
week.
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
217
“ He won’t be lame, or have to wear crutches
or a lump on his foot, will he ? ” whispered Bobbie,
breathlessly, at the door.
“ My aunt ! no ! ” said Dr. Forrest ; “ he’ll be
as nimble as ever on his pins in a fortnight-
Don’t you worry, little Mother Goose.”
It was when Mother had gone to the gate with
the Doctor to take his last instructions and Phyllis
was filling the kettle for tea, that Peter and Bobbie
found themselves alone.
“ He says you won’t be lame or anything,” said
Bobbie.
“ Oh course I shan’t, silly,” said Peter, very
much relieved all the same.
“ Oh, Peter, I am so sorry,” said Bobbie, after a
pause.
“ That’s all right,” said Peter, gruffly.
“ It was all my fault,” said Bobbie.
“ Rot,” said Peter.
“ If we hadn’t quarrelled, it wouldn’t have
happened. I knew it was wrong to quarrel. I
wanted to say so, but somehow I couldn’t.”
“ Don’t drivel,” said Peter. “ I shouldn’t have
stopped if you had said it. Not likely. And
besides, us rowing hadn’t anything to do with it.
I might have caught my foot in the hoe, or taken
218
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
off my fingers in the chaff-cutting machine or
blown my nose off with fireworks. It would have
been hurt just the same whether we’d been rowing
or not.”
“ But I knew it was wrong to quarrel,” said
Bobbie, in tears, “ and now you’re hurt and — ”
“ Now look here,” said Peter, firmly, “you just
dry up. If you’re not careful, you’ll turn into a
beastly little Sunday-school prig, so I tell you.”
“ I don’t mean to be a prig. But it’s so hard not
to be, when you’re really trying to be good.”
(The Gentle Reader may perhaps have suffered
from this difficulty.)
“ Not it,” said Peter ; “ it’s a jolly good thing
it wasn’t you was hurt. I’m glad it was me.
There ! If it had been you, you’d have been lying
on the sofa looking like a suffering angel and being
the light of the ancious household and all that.
And I couldn’t have stood it.”
“ No, I shouldn’t,” said Bobbie.
“ Yes, you would,” said Peter.
“I tell you I shouldn’t.”
“ I tell you you would.”
“ Oh, children,” said Mother’s voice at the door.
“ Quarrelling again ? Already ? ”
“We aren’t quarrelling — not really,” said Peter.
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
219
“ I wish you wouldn’t think it’s rows every time
we don’t agree ! ” When Mother had gone out
again, Bobbie broke out : —
“ Peter, I am sorry you’re hurt. But you are
a beast to say I’m a Prig.”
“ Well,” said Peter, unexpectedly, “ perhaps I
am. You did say I wasn’t a coward, even when
you were in such a wax. The only thing is —
don’t you be a Prig, that’s all. You keep your
eyes open and if you feel prigginess coming on
just stop it in time. See ? ”
“ Yes,” said Bobbie, “ I see.”
“ Then let’s call it Pax,” said Peter, magnani-
mously : “ bury the hatchet in the fathoms of the
past. Shake hands on it. I say, Bobbie, old chap,
I am tired.”
He was tired for many days after that, and the
settle seemed hard and uncomfortable in spite of
all the pillows and bolsters and soft folded rugs.
It was terrible not to be able to go out. They
moved the settle to the window, and from there
Peter could see the smoke of the trains winding
along the valley. But he could not see the trains.
At first Bobbie found it quite hard to be as
nice to him as she wanted to be, for fear he should
think her priggish. But that soon wore off, and
220
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
both she and Phyllis were, as he observed, jolly
good sorts. Mother sat with him when his sisters
were out. And the words, “he’s not a coward,”
made Peter determined not to make any fuss about
the pain in his foot, though it was rather bad, es-
pecially at night.
Praise helps people very much, sometimes.
There were visitors, too. Mrs. Perks came up to
ask how he was, and so did the Station Master,
and several of the village people. But the time
went slowly, slowly.
“ I do wish there was something to read,” said
Peter. “ I’ve read all our books fifty times over.”
“ I’ll go to the Doctor’s,” said Phyllis ; “ he’s sure
to have some.”
“ Only about how to be ill, and about people’s
nasty insides, I expect,” said Peter.
“ Perks has a whole heap of Magazines that
come out of trains when people are tired of them,”
said Bobbie. “ I’ll run down and ask him.”
So the girls went their two ways.
Bobbie found Perks busy cleaning lamps.
“ And how’s the young gent ? ” said he.
“Better, thanks,” said Robbie, “but he’s most
frightfully bored. I came to ask if you’d got any
Magazines you could lend him.”
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
221
“ There, now,” said Perks, regretfully, rubbing his
ear with a black and oily lump of cotton waste,
“ why didn’t I think of that, now ? I was trying
to think of something as ’ud amuse him only this
morning, and I couldn’t think of anything better
than a guinea-pig. And a young chap I know’s
going to fetch that over for him this tea-time.”
“ How lovely ! A real live guinea ! He will be
pleased. But he’d like the Magazines as well.”
“ That’s just it,” said Perks. “ Pve just sent
the pick of ’em to Snigson’s boy — him what’s
just getting over the pewmonia. But Pve lots
of illustrated papers left.”
He turned to the pile of papers in the corner
and took up a heap six inches thick.”
“ There ! ” he said. “ Pll just slip a bit of
string and a bit of paper round ’em.”
He pulled an old newspaper from the pile
and spread it on the table, and made a neat
parcel of it.
“ There,” said he, “ there’s lots of pictures,
and if he likes to mess ’em about with his
paint-box, or coloured chalks or what not, why,
let him. I don’t want ’em.”
“ You’re a dear,” said Bobbie, took the par-
cel, and started. The papers were heavy, and
222
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
when she had to wait at the level crossing while
a train went by, she rested the parcel on the top
of the gate. And idly she looked at the print-
ing on the paper that the parcel was wrapped in.
Snddenly she clutched the parcel tighter and
bent her head over it. It seemed like some
horrible dream. She read on — the bottom of
the column was torn off — she could read no
further.
She never remembered how she got home.
But she went on tiptoe to her room and locked
the door. Then she undid the parcel and read
that printed column again, sitting on the edge
of her bed, her hands and feet icy cold and her
face burning. When she had read all there was,
she drew a long uneven breath.
“ So now I know,” she said.
What she had read was headed, “End of the
Trial. Verdict. Sentence.”
The name of the man who had been tried
was the name of her Father. The verdict was
“Guilty.” And the sentence was “Five years
Penal Servitude.”
“ Oh, Daddy,” she whispered, crushing the
paper hard, “it’s not true — I don’t believe it.
You never did ! Never, never, never ! ”
THE TERRIBLE SECRET
223
There was a hammering on the door.
“ What is it ? ” said Bobbie.
“ It’s me,” said the voice of Phyllis ; “ tea’s
ready, and a boy’s brought Peter a guinea-pig.
Come along down.”
And Bobbie had to.
CHAPTER XI
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY
Bobbie knew the secret now. A sheet of old
newspaper wrapped round a parcel — just a
little chance like that — had given the secret to
her. And she had to go down to tea and pretend
that there was nothing the matter. The pretence
was bravely made, but it wasn’t very successful.
For when she came in, every one looked up
from its tea and saw her pink-lidded eyes and
her pale face with red tear-blotches on it.
“My darling,” cried Mother, jumping up from
the tea-tray, “ whatever is the matter ? ”
“ My head aches, rather,” said Bobbie. And
indeed it did.
“ Has anything gone wrong ? ” Mother asked.
“I’m all right, really,” said Bobbie, and she
telegraphed to her Mother from her swollen
eyes this brief, imploring message — “ Not be-
fore the others ! ”
Tea was not a cheerful meal. Peter was so
distressed by the obvious fact that something
horrid had happened to Bobbie that he limited
224
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 225
his speech to repeating, “ More bread and
butter, please,” at startlingly short intervals.
Phyllis stroked her sister’s hand under the
table to express sympathy, and knocked her
cup over as she did it. Fetching a cloth and
wiping up the spilt milk helped Bobbie a little.
But she thought that tea would never end. Yet at
last it did end, as all things do at last, and when
Mother took out the tray, Bobbie followed her.
“ She’s gone to own up,” said Phyllis to Peter ;
“ I wonder what she’s done.”
“ Broken something, I suppose,” said Peter, “ but
she needn’t be so silly over it. Mother never rows
for accidents. Listen ! Yes, they’re going up-
stairs. She’s taking Mother up to shew her, — the
water-jug with storks on it, I expect it is.”
Bobbie, in the kitchen, had caught hold of
Mother’s hand as she set down the tea-things.
“ What is it ? ” Mother asked.
But Bobbie only said, “ Come upstairs, come up
where nobody can hear us.”
When she had got Mother alone in her room she
locked the door and then stood quite still, and
quite without words.
All through tea she had been thinking of what
to say ; she had decided that “ I know all,” or
Q
226
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“All is known to me,” or “ The terrible secret is a
secret no longer,” would be the proper thing. But
now that she and her Mother and that awful sheet
of newspaper were alone in the room together, she
found that she could say nothing.
Suddenly she went to Mother and put her arms
round her and began to cry again. And still she
could find no words, only, “ Oh, Mammy, oh,
Mammy, oh, Mammy,” over and over again.
Mother held her very close and waited.
Suddenly Bobbie broke away from her and went
to her bed. From under its mattress she pulled
out the paper she had hidden there, and held it
out, pointing to her Father’s name with a finger
that shook.
“ Oh, Bobbie,” Mother cried, when one little
quick look had shown her what it was, “ you don’t
believe it ? You don’t believe Daddy did it ? ”
“iYo,” Bobbie almost shouted. She had stopped
crying.
“ That’s all right,” said Mother. “ It’s not true.
And they’ve shut him up in prison, but he’s done
nothing wrong. He’s good and noble and honour-
able, and he belongs to us. We have to think of
that, and be proud of him, and wait.”
Again Bobbie clung to her Mother, and again
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 227
only one word came to her, but now that word
was “Daddy,” and “Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy, oh
Daddy ! ” again and again.
“ Why didn’t you tell me, Mammy ? ” she asked
presently.
“Are you going to tell the others?” Mother
asked.
« No.”
“ Why ? ”
“ Because — ”
“ Exactly,” said Mother ; “ so you understand
why I didn’t tell you. We two must help each
other to be brave.”
“Yes,” said Bobbie, “Mother, will it make you
more unhappy if you tell me all about it ? I want
to understand.”
So then, sitting cuddled up close to her Mother,
Bobbie heard “ all about it.” She heard how those
men, who had asked to see Father on that remem-
bered last night when the Engine was being
mended, had come to arrest him, charging him
with selling State secrets to the Russians — with
being, in fact, a spy and a traitor. She heard
about the trial, and about the evidence — letters
found in Father’s desk at the office, letters that
convinced the jury that Father was guilty.
228
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Oh, how could they look at him and believe
it ! ” cried Bobbie ; “ and how could any one do
such a thing ! ”
« Some one did it,” said Mother, “ and all the
evidence was against Father. Those letters — ”
“ Yes. How did the letters get into his desk ? ”
“ Some one put them there. And the person who
put them there was the person who was really
guilty.”
“ He must be feeling pretty awful all this time,”
said Bobbie, thoughtfully.
“ I don’t believe he had any feelings,” Mother
said hotly ; “ he couldn’t have done a thing like that
if he had.”
“ Perhaps he just shoved the letters into the
desk to hide them when he thought he was going
to be found out. Why don’t you tell the lawyers,
or some one, that it must have been that person ?
There wasn’t any one that would have hurt Father
on purpose, was there ? ”
“ I don’t know — I don’t know. The man under
him who got Daddy’s place when he — when the
awful thing happened — he was always jealous of
your Father because Daddy was so clever and every
one thought such a lot of him. And Daddy never
quite trusted that man.”
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 229
“ Couldn’t we explain all that to some one ? ”
“ Nobody will listen,” said Mother, very bitterly,
“ nobody at all. Do you suppose I’ve not tried
everything ? No, my dearest, there’s nothing to be
done. All we can do, you and I and Daddy, is to
be brave, and patient, and — ” she spoke very
softly — “ to pray, Bobbie dear.”
“ Mother, you’ve got very thin,” said Bobbie,
abruptly.
“ A little perhaps.”
“ And oh,” said Bobbie, “ I do think you’re the
bravest person in the world as well as the nicest ! ”
“ We won’t talk of all this any more, will we,
dear ? ” said Mother, “ we must bear it and be
brave. And, darling, try not to think of it. Try
to be cheerful, and to amuse yourself and the
others. It’s much easier for me if you can be a
little bit happy and enjoy things. Wash your poor
little round face, and let’s go out into the garden
for a bit.”
The other two were very gentle and kind to
Bobbie. And they did not ask her what was the
matter. This was Peter’s idea, and he had drilled
Phyllis, who would have asked a hundred questions
if she had been left to herself.
Next day Bobbie managed to get away alone.
230
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
And once more she wrote a letter. And once more
it was to the old gentleman.
“ My dear Friend,” she said, “ you see what is
in this paper. It is not true. Father never did it.
Mother says some one put the papers in Father’s
desk, and she says the man under him that got
Father’s place afterwards was jealous of Father,
and Father suspected him a long time. But no-
body listens to a word she says, but you are so
good and clever, and you found out about the
Russian gentleman’s wife directly. Can’t you find
out who did the treason because it wasn’t Father
upon my honour ; he is an Englishman and uncap-
able to do such things, and then they would let
Father out of prison. It is dreadful, and Mother
is getting so thin. She told us once to pray for all
prisoners and captives. I see now. Oh, do help
me — there is only just Mother and me know, and
we can’t do anything. Peter and Phil don’t know-
1’11 pray for you twice every day as long as I live
if you’ll only try — just try to find out. Think
if it was your Daddy, what you would feel. Oh, do,
do, do help me. With love
“ I remain Your affectionately little friend
“ Roberta.”
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY
231
“P.S. Mother would send her kind regards if she
knew I am writing — but it is no use telling her I
am, in case you can’t do anything. But I know
you will. Bobbie with best love.”
She cut the account of her Father’s trial out
of the newspaper with Mother’s big cutting-out
scissors, and put it in the envelope with her
letter.
Then she took it down to the station, going out
the back way and round by the road, so that the
others should not see her and offer to come with
her, and she gave the letter to the Station Master
to give to the old gentleman next morning.
“ Where lime you been ? ” shouted Peter, from
the top of the yard wall where he and Phyllis
were.
“ To the station, of course,” said Bobbie ; “ give
us a hand, Pete.”
She set her foot on the lock of the yard door.
Peter reached down a hand.
“ What on earth ? ” she asked as she reached
the wall-top — for Phyllis and Peter were very
very muddy. A lump of wet clay lay between
them on the wall, they had each a slip of slate in
a very dirty hand, and behind Peter, out of the
232 THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
reach of accidents, were several strange rounded
objects rather like very fat sausages, hollow, but
closed up at one end.
“ It’s nests,” said Peter, “ swallows’ nests.
We’re going to dry them in the oven and hang
them up with string under the eaves of the coach-
house.”
“ Yes,” said Phyllis ; “ and then we’re going to
save up all the wool and hair we can get, and in
the spring we’ll line them, and then how pleased
the swallows will be ! ”
“ I’ve often thought people don’t do nearly
enough for dumb animals,” said Peter, with an
air of virtue. “ I do think people might have
thought of making nests for poor little swallows
before this.”
“ Oh,” said Bobbie, vaguely, “ if everybody
thought of everything, there’d be nothing left for
anybody else to think about.”
“ Look at the nests — aren’t they pretty ? ” said
Phyllis, reaching across Peter to grasp a nest.
“ Look out, Phil, you goat,” said her brother.
But it was too late ; her strong little fingers had
crushed the nest.
“ There now,” said Peter.
“ Never mind,” said Bobbie.
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 233
“ It is one of my own,” said Phyllis, “ so you
needn’t jaw, Pete. Yes, we’ve put our initial
names on the ones we’ve done, so that the swal-
lows will know who they’ve got to be so grateful
to and fond of.”
“ Swallows can’t read, silly,” said Peter.
“ Silly yourself,” retorted Phyllis ; “ how do you
know ? ”
“ Who thought of making the nests, anyhow?”
shouted Peter.
“ I did,” screamed Phyllis.
“ Nya,” rejoined Peter, “ you only thought of
making hay ones and sticking them in the ivy for
the sparrows, and they’d have been sopping long
before egg-laying time. It was me said clay and
swallows.”
“ I don’t care what you said.”
“ Look,” said Bobbie, “ I’ve made the nest all
right again. Give me the bit of stick to mark
your initial name on it. But how can you? Your
letters and Peter’s are the same. P. for Peter, P.
for Phyllis.”
“ I put F. for Phyllis,” said the child of that
name. “ That’s how it sounds. The swallows
wouldn’t spell Phyllis with a P, I’m certain-sure.”
“They can’t spell at all,” Peter was still in-
sisting.
234
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Then why do you see them always on Christ-
mas cards and valentines with letters round their
necks ? How would they know where to go if
they couldn’t read ? ”
“That’s only in pictures. You never saw one
really with letters round its neck.”
“ Well, I have a pigeon, then ; at least Daddy
told me they did. Only it was under their wings
and not round their necks, but it comes to the
same thing, and — ”
“ I say,” interrupted Bobbie, “ there’s to be a
paper-chase to-morrow.”
“ Who ? ” Peter asked.
“Grammar School. Perks thinks the hare will
go along by the line at first. We might go along
the cutting. You can see a long way from there.”
The paper-chase was found to be a more amus-
ing subject of conversation than the reading poWers
of swallows. Bobbie had hoped it might be. And
next morning Mother let them take their lunch
and go out for the day to see the paper-chase.
“ If we go to the cutting,” said Peter, “ we shall
see the workmen, even if we miss the paper-
chase.”
Of course it had taken some time to get the
line clear from the rocks and earth and trees that
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 235
had fallen on it when the great landslip happened.
That was the occasion, you will remember, when
the three children saved the train from being
wrecked by waving six little red-flannel-petticoat
flags. It is always interesting to watch people
working, especially when they work with such
interesting things as spades and picks and shovels
and planks and barrows, when they have cindery
red flres in iron pots with round holes in them,
and red lamps hanging near the works at night.
Of course the children were never out at night ;
but once, at dusk, when Peter had got out of his
bedroom skylight on to the roof, he had seen the
red lamp shining far away at the edge of the cut-
ting. The children had often been down to watch
the work, and this day the interest of picks and
spades and barrows being wheeled along planks
completely put the paper-chase out of their heads,
so that they quite jumped when a voice just
behind them panted, “ Let me pass, please.” It
was the hare — a big-boned, loose-limbed boy, with
dark hair lying flat on a very damp forehead.
The bag of torn paper under his arm was fastened
across one shoulder by a strap. The children
stood back. The hare ran along by the line,
and the workmen leaned on their picks to watch
236
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
him. He ran on steadily and disappeared into
the mouth of the tunnel.
“ That’s against the by-laws,” said the foreman.
“Why wrong?” said the oldest workman; “live
and let live’s what I always say. Ain’t you never
been young yourself, Mr. Bates ? ”
“I ought to report him,” said the foreman.
“ Why spoil sport’s what I always say.”
“ Passengers are forbidden to cross the line on
any pretence,” murmured the foreman, doubtfully.
“ He ain’t no passenger,” said one of the
workmen.
“ Nor ’e ain’t crossed the line, not where we
could see ’im do it,” said another.
“Nor yet ’e ain’t made no pretences,” said a
third.
“ And,” said the oldest workman, “ ’e’s outer
sight now. What the eye don’t see the ’art
needn’t take no notice of’s what I always
say.”
And now, following the track of the hare by
the little white blots of scattered paper, came the
hounds. There were thirty of them, and they all
came down the steep, ladder-like steps by ones
and twos and threes and sixes and sevens. Bobbie
and Phyllis and Peter counted them as they
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 237
passed. The foremost ones hesitated a moment
at the foot of the ladder, then their eyes caught
the gleam of scattered whiteness along the line
and they turned towards the tunnel, and, by ones
and twos and threes and sixes and sevens, dis-
appeared in the dark mouth of it. The last one,
in a red jersey, seemed to be extinguished by the
darkness like a candle that is blown out.
“They don’t know what they’re in for,” said
the foreman ; “ it isn’t so easy running in the
dark. The tunnel takes two or three turns.”
“ They’ll take a long time to get through, you
think ? ” Peter asked.
“ An hour or more, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Then let’s cut across the top and see them
come out at the other end,” said Peter ; “ we shall
get there long before they do.”
The counsel seemed good, and they went.
They climbed the steep steps from which they
had picked the wild cherry blossom for the grave
of the little wild rabbit, and reaching the top of
the cutting, set their faces towards the hill
through which the tunnel was cut. It was
stiff work.
“ It’s like Alps,” said Bobbie, breathlessly.
“ Or Andes,” said Peter.
238
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ It’s like Himmy what’s its names ? ” gasped
Phyllis. “ Mount Everlasting. Do let’s stop.”
“ Stick to it,” panted Peter ; “ you’ll get your
second wind in a minute.”
Phyllis consented to stick to it — and on they
went, running when the turf was smooth and the
slope easy, climbing over stones, helping them-
selves up rocks by the branches of trees, creeping
through narrow openings between tree trunks
and rocks, and so on and on, up and up, till at
last they stood on the very top of the hill where
they had so often wished to be.
“ Halt ! ” cried Peter, and threw himself flat on
the grass. For the very top of the hill was a
smooth, turfed table-land, dotted with mossy
rocks and little mountain ash trees.
The girls also threw themselves down flat.
“Plenty of time,” Peter panted ; “the rest’s all
down hill.”
When they were rested enough to sit up and
look round them, Bobbie cried : —
“ Oh, look ! ”
“ What at ? ” said Phyllis.
“ The view,” said Bobbie.
“ I hate views,” said Phyllis, “ don’t you, Peter?”
“ Let’s get on,” said Peter.
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 239
“ But this isn’t a view like they take you to in
carriages when you’re at the seaside, all sea and
sand and bare hills. It’s like the ‘ coloured .
counties ’ in one of Mother’s poetry books.”
“ It’s not so dusty,” said Peter; “look at the
Aqueduct straddling slap across the valley like a
giant centipede, and then the towns sticking their
church spires up out of the trees like pens out of
an inkstand, /think it’s more like
There could he see the banners
Of twelve fair cities shine.”
“ I love it,” said Bobbie ; “ it’s worth the climb.”
“ The paper chase is worth the climb,” said
Phyllis, “ if we don’t lose it. Let’s get on. It’s
all down hill now.”
“ 1 said that ten minutes ago,” said Peter.
“ Well, Fve said it now,” said Phyllis; “ come on.”
“Loads of time,” said Peter. And there was.
For when they had got down to a level with the
top of the tunnel’s mouth, — they were a couple of
hundred yards out of their reckoning and had to
creep along the face of the hill, — there was no
sign of the hare or the hounds.
“ They’ve gone long ago, of course,” said Phyllis,
as they leaned on the brick parapet above the
tunnel.
240
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“I don’t think so,” said Bobbie, “but even if
they had, it’s ripping here, and we shall see the
trains come out of the tunnel like dragons out of
lairs. We’ve never seen that from the top side
before.”
“No more we have,” said Phyllis, partially
appeased.
It was really a most exciting place to be in.
The top of the tunnel seemed ever so much farther
from the line than they had expected, and it
was like being on a bridge, but a bridge over-
grown with bushes and creepers and grass and
wild-flowers.
“ I know the paper-chase has gone long ago,”
said Phyllis every two minutes, and she hardly
knew whether she was pleased or disappointed
when Peter, leaning over the parapet, suddenly
cried : —
“ Look out. Here he comes ! ”
They all leaned over the sun-warmed brick
wall in time to see the hare, going very slowly,
come out from the shadow of the tunnel.
“ There, now,” said Peter, « what did I tell
you ? Now for the hounds ! ”
Very soon came the hounds — by ones and
twos and threes and sixes and sevens — and they
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 241
also were going slowly and seemed very tired.
Two or three who lagged far behind came out
long after the others.
“ There,” said Bobbie, “ that’s all — now what
shall we do ? ”
“ Go along into the tulgy wood over there and
have lunch,” said Phyllis; “we can see them for
miles from up here.”
“Not yet,” said Peter. “That’s not the last.
There’s the one in the red jersey to come yet.
Let’s see the last of them come out.”
But though they waited and waited and waited,
the boy in the red jersey did not appear.
“ Oh, let’s have lunch,” said Phyllis ; “ Pve got
a pain in my front with being so hungry. You
must have missed seeing the red-jerseyed one
when he came out with the others — ”
But Bobbie and Peter agreed that he had not
come out with the others.
“ Let’s get down to the tunnel mouth,” said
Peter ; “ then perhaps we shall see him coming
along from the inside. I expect he felt spun-
chuck, and rested in one of the manholes. You
stay up here and watch, Bob, and when I signal
from below, you come down. We might miss
seeing him on the way down, with all these trees.”
242
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
So the others climbed down and Bobbie waited
till they signalled to her from the line below.
And then she, too, scrambled down the roundabout
slippery path among tree roots and moss till she
stepped out between two dogwood trees and
joined the others on the line. And still there
was no sign of the hound with the red jersey.
“ Oh, do, do let’s have something to eat,” wailed
Phyllis. “ I shall die if you don’t, and then you’ll
be sorry.”
“ Give her the sandwiches, for goodness’ sake,
and stop her silly mouth,” said Peter, not quite
unkindly. “ Look here,” he added, turning to
Bobbie, “ perhaps we’d better have one each, too.
We may need all our strength. Not more than
one, though. There’s no time.”
“ What ? ” asked Bobbie, her mouth already
full, for she was just as hungry as Phyllis.
“ Don’t you see,” replied Peter, impressively,
“ that red-jerseyed hound has had an accident —
that’s what it is. Perhaps even as we speak he’s
lying with his head on the metals, an unresisting
prey to any passing express — ”
“ Oh, don’t try to talk like a book,” cried Bobbie,
bolting what was left of her sandwich ; “ come on.
Phil, keep close behind me, and if a train comes,
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 243
stand flat against the tunnel wall and hold your
petticoats close to you.”
“Give me one more sandwich,” pleaded Phyllis,
“and I will.”
“ I’m going first,” said Peter ; “ it was my idea,”
and he went.
Of course you know what going into a tunnel is
like ? The engine gives a scream, and then sud-
denly the noise of the running, rattling train
changes and grows different and much louder.
Grown-up people pull up the windows and hold
them by the strap. The railway carriage suddenly
grows like night — with lamps, of course, unless
you are in a slow local train, in which case lamps
are not always provided. Then by and by the
darkness outside the carriage window is touched
by puffs of cloudy whiteness, then you see a blue
light on the walls of the tunnel, then the sound of
the moving train changes once more, and you are
out in the good open air again, and grown-ups let
the straps go. The windows, all dim with the
yellow breath of the tunnel, rattle down into their
places, and you see once more the dip and catch
of the telegraph wires beside the line, and the
straight cut hawthorn hedges with the tiny baby
trees growing up out of them every thirty yards.
244
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
All this, of course, is what a tunnel means when
you are in a train. But everything is quite differ,
ent when you walk into a tunnel on your own feet,
and tread on shifting sliding stones and gravel on
a path that curves downwards from the shining
metals to the wall. Then you see slimy, oozy
trickles of water running down the inside of the
tunnel, and you notice that the bricks are not red
or brown, as they are at the tunnel’s mouth, but
dull, sticky, sickly green. Your voice, when you
speak, is quite changed from what it was out in
the sunshine, and it is a long time before the
tunnel is quite dark.
It was not yet quite dark in the tunnel when
Phyllis caught at Bobbie’s skirt, ripping out half
a yard of gathers, but no one noticed this at the
time.
“ I want to go back,” she said, “ I don’t like it.
It’ll be pitch dark in a minute. I won't go on in
the dark. I don’t care what you say, I won't .”
“ Don’t be a silly cuckoo,” said Peter ; « I’ve got
a candle end and matches, and — what’s that ? ”
“ That ” was a low, humming sound on the rail-
way line, a trembling of the wires beside it, a buzz-
ing, humming sound that grew louder and louder
as they listened.
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 245
“ It’s a train,” said Bobbie.
“ Which line ? ”
Nobody knew.
“Let me go back,” cried Phyllis, struggling to
get away from the hand by which Bobbie held
her.
“ Don’t be a coward,” said Bobbie ; “ it’s quite
safe. Stand back.”
“ Come on,” shouted Peter, who was a few
yards ahead. “ Quick ! Man hole ! ”
The roar of the advancing train was now louder
than the noise you hear when your head is under
water in the bath and both taps are running, and
you are kicking with your heels against the bath’s
tin sides. But Peter had shouted for all he was
worth, and Bobbie heard him. She dragged
Phyllis along to the manhole. Phyllis, of course,
stumbled over the wires and grazed both her legs.
But they dragged her in, and all three stood in the
dark, damp, arched recess while the train roared
louder and louder. It seemed as if it would
deafen them. And, in the distance, they could
see its eyes of fire growing bigger and brighter
every instant.
“ It is a dragon — I always knew it was — it
takes its own shape in here, in the dark,” shouted
246
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Phyllis. But nobody heard her. You see the
train was shouting, too, and its voice was bigger
than hers.
And now, with a rush and a roar and a rattle
and a long dazzling flash of lighted carriage win-
dows, a smell of smoke, and blast of hot air, the
train hurtled by, clanging and jangling and echo-
ing in the vaulted roof of the tunnel. Phyllis and
Bobbie clung to each other. Even Peter caught
hold of Bobbie’s arm, “ in case she should be
frightened,” as he explained afterwards.
And now, slowly and gradually, the tail-lights
grew smaller and smaller, and so did the noise, till
with one last whizz the train got itself out of the
tunnel, and silence settled again on its damp walls
and dripping roof.
“ Oh ! ” said the children, all together in a
whisper.
Peter was lighting the candle end with a hand
that trembled.
“ Come on,” he said ; but he had to clear his
throat before he could speak in his natural
voice.
“ Oh,” said Phyllis, “ if the red-jerseyed one was
in the way of the train ! ”
“ We’ve got to go and see,” said Peter.
THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY 247
“ Couldn’t we go and send some one from the
station ? ” said Phyllis.
“Would you rather wait here for us?” asked
Robbie, severely, and of course that settled the
question.
So the three went on into the deeper darkness
of the tunnel. Peter led, holding his candle end
high to light the way. The grease ran down his
fingers, and some of it right up his sleeve. He
found a long streak from wrist to elbow when he
went to bed that night.
It was not more than a hundred and fifty yards
from the spot where they had stood while the train
went by that Peter stood still, shouted “ Hullo,” and
then went on much quicker than before. When
the others caught him up, he stopped. And he
stopped within a yard of what they had come into
the tunnel to look for. Phyllis saw a gleam of
red, and shut her eyes tight. There, on the
curved, pebbly down line, was the red-jerseyed
hound. His back was against the wall, his arms
fell limply by his sides, and his eyes were shut.
“ Was the red, blood ? Is he all killed ? ”
asked Phyllis, screwing her eyelids more tightly
together.
“ Killed ? Nonsense ! ” said Peter. “ There’s
248 THE HOUND IN THE RED JERSEY
nothing red about him except his jersey. He’s
only fainted. What on earth are we to do ? ”
“ Can we move him ? ” asked Bobby.
“ I don’t know ; he’s a big chap.”
“ Suppose we bathed his forehead with water.
No, I know we haven’t any, but milk’s just as wet.
There’s a whole bottle.”
“Yes,” said Peter, “and they rub people’s hands,
I believe, and say, 4 Oh, look up, speak to me !
For my sake, speak ! ’ ”
“ They burn feathers, I know,” said Phyllis.
“ What’s the good of saying that when we
haven’t any feathers ? ”
“ As it happens,” said Phyllis, in a tone of
exasperated triumph, “ Pve got a shuttlecock in
my pocket. So there ! ”
And now Peter rubbed the hands of the red-
jersey ed one. Bobbie burned the feathers of the
shuttlecock one by one under his nose, Phyllis
splashed warmish milk on his forehead, and all
three kept on saying as fast and as earnestly as
they could : —
“ Oh, look up, speak to me ! For my sake,
speak ! ”
CHAPTER XII
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME
“ Oh, look up ! Speak to me ! For my sake,
speak ! ” The children said the words over and
over again to the unconscious hound in a red
jersey, who sat with closed eyes and pale face
against the side of the tunnel.
“Wet his ears w T ith milk,” said Bobbie. “I
know they do it to people’s that faint — with Eau-
de-Cologne. But I expect milk’s just as good.”
So they wetted his ears, and some of the milk
ran down his neck under the red jersey. It
was very dark in the tunnel. The candle end
Peter had carried, and which now burned on a
flat stone, gave hardly any light at all.
“Oh, do look up,” said Phyllis. “For my sake
I believe he’s dead.”
« For my sake,” repeated Bobbie. “ No, he
isn’t.”
“ For any sake,” said Peter ; “ come out of it.”
And he shook the sufferer by the arm.
And then the boy in the red jersey sighed, and
249
250
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
opened his eyes, and shut them again and said in
a very small voice, “ Chuck it.”
“ Oh, he’s not dead,” said Phyllis. “ I knew he
wasn’t,” and she began to cry.
“ What’s up ? Pm all right,” said the boy.
“ Drink this,” said Peter, firmly, thrusting the
nose of the milk bottle into the boy’s mouth. The
boy struggled, and some of the milk was upset
before he could get his mouth free to say : —
“ What is it ? ”
“ It’s milk,” said Peter. “ Fear not, you are in
the hands of friends. Phil, you stop bleating this
minute.”
“Do drink it,” said Bobbie, gently; “it’ll do
you good.”
So he drank. And the three stood by without
speaking to him.
“ Let him be a minute,” Peter whispered ; “ he’ll
be all right as soon as the milk begins to run like
fire through his veins.”
He was.
“ I’m better now,” he announced. “ I remember
all about it.” He tried to move, but the movement
ended in a groan. « Bother ! I believe I’ve
broken my leg,” he said.
“ Did you tumble down ? ” asked Phyllis, snif-
fing.
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME 251
“Of course not — I’m not a kiddie,” said the
boy, indignantly ; “ it was one of those beastly wires
tripped me up, and when I tried to get up again I
couldn’t stand, so I sat down. Gee whillikins ! it
does hurt, though. How did you get here ? ”
“We saw you all go into the tunnel and then
we went across the hill to see you all come out.
And the others did — all but you, and you didn’t.
So we are a rescue party,” said Peter, with pride.
“You’ve got some pluck, I will say,” remarked
the boy.
“ Oh, that’s nothing,” said Peter, with modesty.
“ Do you think you could walk if we helped you ? ”
“ I could try,” said the boy.
He did try. But he could only stand on one
foot ; the other dragged in a very nasty way.
“ Here, let me sit down. I feel like dying,”
said the boy. “ Let go of me — let go, quick — ”
He lay down and closed his eyes. The others
looked at each other by the dim light of the little
candle.
“ What on earth ! ” said Peter.
“Look here,” said Bobbie, quickly, “you must
go and get help. Go to the nearest house.”
« Yes, that’s the only thing,” said Peter. “ Come
on.”
252
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ If you take his feet and Pliil and I take his
head, we could carry him to the manhole.”
They did it. It was perhaps as well for the
sufferer that he had fainted again.
“ Now,” said Bobbie, “ I’ll stay with him. You
take the longest bit of candle, and oh, — be quick,
for this bit won’t burn long.”
“ I don’t think Mother would like me leaving
you,” said Peter, doubtfully. “Let me stay, and
you and Phil go.”
“No, no,” said Bobbie, “you and Phil go — and
lend me your knife. I’ll try to get his boot off
before he wakes up again.”
“ I hope it’s right what we’re doing,” said
Peter.
“ Of course it’s right,” said Bobbie, impatiently.
“ What else would you do ? Leave him here all
alone because it’s dark? Nonsense. Hurry up,
that’s all.”
So they hurried up.
Bobbie watched their dark figures and the little
light of the little candle with an odd feeling of
having come to the end of everything. She knew
now, she thought, what nuns who were bricked up
alive in convent walls felt like. Suddenly she gave
herself a little shake.
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME
253
“Don’t be a silly little girl,” she said. She was
always very angry when any one else called her a
little girl, even if the adjective that went first
was not “ silly ” but “ nice ” or « good ” or “ clever.”
And it was only when she was very angry with
herself that she allowed Roberta to use that ex-
pression to Bobbie.
She fixed the little candle end on a broken brick
near the red-jerseyed boy’s feet. Then she opened
Peter’s knife. It was always hard to manage —
a halfpenny was generally needed to get it open
at all. This time Bobbie somehow got it open
with her thumbnail. She broke the nail, and
it hurt horribly. Then she cut the boy’s bootlace,
and got the boot off. She tried to pull off his
stocking, but his leg was dreadfully swollen, and
it did not seem to be the proper shape. So she cut
the stocking down, very slowly and carefully. It
was a brown, knitted stocking, and she wondered
who had knitted it, and whether it was the boy’s
mother, and whether she was feeling anxious about
him, and how she would feel when he was brought
home with his leg broken. When Bobby had got
the stocking off and saw the poor leg, she felt as
though the tunnel was growing darker, and the
ground felt unsteady, and nothing seemed quite real.
254
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Silly little girl ! ” said Roberta to Bobbie, and
felt better.
“ The poor leg,” she told herself ; “ it ought to
have a cushion — ah ! ”
She remembered the day when she and Phyllis
had torn up their red flannel petticoats to make
danger signals to stop the train and prevent an
accident. Her flannel petticoat to-day was white,
but it would be quite as soft as a red one. She
took it off.
“ Oh, what useful things flannel petticoats are ! ”
she said ; “ the man who invented them ought to
have a statue directed to him.” And she said it
aloud, becaused it seemed that any voice, even her
own, would be a comfort in that darkness.
“ What ought to be directed ? Who to ? ” asked
the boy, suddenly and very feebly.
“ Oh,” said Bobbie, “ now you’re better ! Hold
your teeth and don’t let it hurt you too much.
Now ! ”
She had folded the petticoat, and lifting his leg
laid it on the cushion of folded flannel.
“ Don’t faint again, please don’t,” said Bobbie, as
he groaned. She hastily wetted her handkerchief
with milk and spread it over the poor leg.
“ Oh, that hurts,” cried the boy, shrinking.
“ Oh — no, it doesn’t — it’s nice, really.”
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME 255
“ What’s your name ? ” said Bobbie.
“ Jim.”
“ Mine’s Bobbie.”
“ But you’re a girl, aren’t you ? ”
“ Yes, my long name’s Roberta.”
“I say — Bobbie.”
“ Yes ? ”
“Wasn’t there some more of you just now?”
“Yes, Peter and Phil — that’s my brother and
sister. They’ve gone to get some one to carry you
out.”
“ What rum names. All boys’.”
“Yes — I wish I was a boy, don’t you?”
« I think you’re all right as you are.”
“ I didn’t mean that — I meant don’t you wish you
were a boy, but of course you are without wishing.”
“ You’re just as brave as a boy. Why didn’t
you go with the others ? ”
“ Somebody had to stay with you,” said Bobbie.
“Tell you what, Bobbie,” said Jim, “you’re a
brick. Shake.” He reached out a red-jerseyed
arm and Bobbie squeezed his hand.
“ I won’t shake it,” she explained, “ because it
would shake you, and that would shake your poor
leg, and that would hurt. Have you got a
hanky ? ”
256
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ I don’t expect I have.” He felt in his pocket.
“ Yes, I have. What for ? ”
She took it and wetted it with milk and put it
on his forehead.
“ That’s jolly,” he said ; “ what is it ? ”
“ Milk,” said Bobbie. “ We haven’t any
water — ”
“You’re a jolly good little nurse,” said Jim.
“ I do it for Mother sometimes,” said Bobbie, —
“not milk, of course, but scent, or vinegar and
w T ater. I say, I must put the candle out now,
because there mayn’t be enough of the other one to
get you out by.”
“ By George,” said he, “ you think of everything.”
Bobbie blew. Out went the candle. You have
no idea how black-velvety the darkness was.
“ I say, Bobbie,” said a voice through the black-
ness, “aren’t you afraid of the dark?”
“ Not — not very, that is — ”
“ Let’s hold hands,” said the boy, and it was
really rather good of him, because he was like
most boys of his age and hated all material tokens
of affection, such as kissing and holding of hands.
He called all such things “ pa wings,” and de-
tested them.
The darkness was more bearable to Bobbie now
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME
257
that her hand was held in the large rough hand of
the red-jerseyed sufferer ; and he, holding her little
smooth hot paw, was surprised to find that he did
not mind it so much as he expected. She tried to
talk, to amuse him, and “ take his mind off ” his
sufferings, but it is very difficult to go on talking
in the dark, and presently they found themselves
in a silence, only broken now and then by a —
“ You all right, Bobbie ? ”
or an —
“ I’m afraid it’s hurting you most awfully, Jim.
I am so sorry.”
And it was very cold.
########
Peter and Phyllis tramped down the long way
of the tunnel towards daylight, the candle-grease
dripping over Peter’s fingers. There were no
accidents unless you count Phyllis’s catching her
frock on a wire, and tearing a long, jagged slit in
it, and tripping over her bootlace when it came
undone, or going down on her hands-and-knees, all
four of which were grazed.
“ There’s no end to this tunnel,” said Phyllis, —
and indeed it did seem very very long.
“ Stick to it,” said Peter ; “ everything has an
end, and you get to it if you only keep all on.”
258
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Which is quite true, if you come to think of it,
and a useful thing to remember in seasons of
trouble, — such as measles, arithmetic, impositions,
and those times when you are in disgrace, and feel
as though no one would ever love you again, and
you could never — never again — love anybody.
“ Hurray,” said Peter, suddenly, “ there’s the end
of the tunnel — - looks just like a pin-hole in a bit
of black paper, doesn’t it ? ”
The pin-hole got larger — blue lights lay along
the sides of the tunnel. The children could see the
gravel way that lay in front of them ; the air grew
warmer and sweeter. Another twenty steps and
they were out in the good glad sunshine with the
green trees on both sides.
Phyllis drew a long breath.
“ I’ll never go into a tunnel again so long as ever
I live,” said she, “ not if there are twenty hundred
thousand million hounds inside with red jerseys
and their legs broken.”
“ Don’t be a silly cuckoo,” said Peter, as usual.
“ You’d have to.”
“ I think it was very brave and good of me,”
said Phyllis.
“ Not it,' 1 said Peter ; “ you didn’t go because you
were brave, but because Bobbie and I aren’t skunks.
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME
259
Now where’s the nearest house, I wonder ? You
can’t see anything here for the trees.”
“ There’s a roof over there,” said Phyllis, pointing
down the line.
“ That’s the signal-box,” said Peter, “ and you
know you’re not allowed to speak to signalmen on
duty. It’s wrong.”
“ Pm not near so afraid of doing wrong as I was
of going into that tunnel,” said Phyllis. “ Come
on,” and she started to run along the line. So
Peter ran, too.
It was very hot in the sunshine, and both chil-
dren were hot and breathless by the time they
stopped, and bending their heads back to look up
at the open windows of the signal-box, shouted
“ Hi ! ” as loud as their breathless state allowed.
But no one answered. The signal-box stood quiet
as an empty nursery, and the handrail of its steps
were hot to the hands of the children as they
climbed softly up. They peeped in at the open
door. The signalman was sitting on a chair tilted
back against the wall. His head leaned sideways,
and his mouth was open. He was fast asleep.
“ My hat ! ” cried Peter ; 44 wake up ! ” And he
cried in a terrible voice, for he knew that if a
signalman sleeps on duty, he risks losing his situa-
260
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
tion, let alone all the other dreadful risks to trains
which expect him to tell them when it is safe for
them to go their ways.
The signalman never moved. Then Peter sprang
to him and shook him. And slowly, yawning and
stretching, the man awoke. But the moment he
was awake he leapt to his feet, put his hands to his
head “ like a mad maniac,” as Phyllis said after-
wards, and shouted : —
“ Oh, my heavens — what’s o’clock ? ”
“ Twelve thirteen,” said Peter, and indeed it
was by the white-faced, round-faced clock on the
wall of the signal-box.
The man looked at the clock, sprang to the
levers, and wrenched them this way and that. An
electric bell tingled — the wires and cranks creaked,
and the man threw himself into a chair. He was
very pale, and the sweat stood on his forehead
“ like large dewdrops on a white cabbage,” as
Phyllis remarked later. He was trembling, too ;
the children could see his big hairy hands shake
from side to side, “ with quite extra-sized trembles,”
to use the subsequent words of Peter. He drew
long breaths. Then suddenly he cried, “Thank
God, thank God, you come in when you did — oh,
thank God ! ” and his shoulders began to heave and
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME
261
his face grew red again, and he hid it in those large
hairy hands of his.
“Oh, don’t cry — don’t,” said Phyllis, “it’s all
right now,” and she patted him on one big, broad
shoulder, while Peter conscientiously thumped the
other.
But the signalman seemed quite broken down, and
the children had to pat him and thump him for
quite a long time before he found his handkerchief
— a red one with mauve and white horseshoes on
it — and mopped his face and spoke. During this
patting and thumping interval a train thundered by.
“ I’m down-right shamed, that I am,” were the
words of the big signalman when he had stopped
crying ; “ snivelling like a kid.” Then suddenly he
seemed to get cross. “ And what was you doing
up here, anyway ? ” he said ; “ you know it ain’t
allowed.”
“ Yes,” said Phyllis, “ we knew it was wrong —
but I wasn’t afraid of doing wrong, and so it turned
out right. You aren’t sorry we came.”
“ Lor love you — if you hadn’t ’ a ’ come — ” he
stopped and then went on. “ It’s a disgrace, so it
is, sleeping on duty. If it was to come to be
known — even as it is, when no harm’s come of
it. ”
262
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
« It won’t come to be known,” said Peter ; “ we
aren’t sneaks. All the same you oughtn’t to sleep
on duty — it’s dangerous.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” said the
man, “ but I can’t help it. I know’d well
enough just how it ’ud be. But I couldn’t get off.
They couldn’t get no one to take on my duty. I
tell you I ain’t had ten minutes’ sleep this last
five days. My little chap’s ill, — pewmonia, the
Doctor says, — and there’s no one but me and ’is
little sister to do for him. That’s where it is.
The gell must ’ave her sleep. Dangerous ? Yes, I
believe you. Now go and split on me if you like.”
“ Of course we won’t,” said Peter, indignantly,
but Phyllis ignored the whole of the signalman’s
speech, except the first six words.
“ You asked us,” she said, “ to tell you some-
thing you don’t know. Well, I will. There’s a
boy in the tunnel over there with a red jersey and
his leg broken.”
“ What did he want to go into the blooming
tunnel for, then ? ” said the man.
“Don’t you be so cross,” said Phyllis, kindly.
“ We haven’t done anything wrong except
coming and waking you up, and that was right,
as it happens.”
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME
263
Then Peter told how the boy came to be in the
tunnel.
“Well,” said the man, “I don’t see as I can do
anything. I can’t leave the box.”
“ You might tell us where to go after some one
who isn’t in a box, though,” said Phyllis.
“ There’s Brigden’s farm over yonder — where you
see the smoke a-coming up through the trees,” said
the man, more and more grumpy, as Phyllis noticed.
“ Well — good-by, then,” said Peter.
But the man said wait a minute. He put his
hand in his pocket and brought out some money
— a lot of pennies and one or two shillings and
sixpences and half-a-crown. He picked out two
shillings and held them out.
“ Here,” he said. “ I’ll give you this to hold
your tongues about what’s taken place to-day.”
There was a short unpleasant pause. Then : —
“You are a nasty man, though, aren’t you?”
said Phyllis.
Peter took a step forward and knocked the-
man’s hand up, so that the shillings leapt out of it
and rolled on the floor.
“ If anything could make me sneak, that
would!” he said. “Come, Phil,” and marched
out of the signal-box with flaming cheeks.
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THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Phyllis hesitated. Then she took the hand, still
held out stupidly, that the shillings had been in.
“ I forgive you,” she said, “ even if Peter doesn’t.
You’re not in your proper senses, or you’d never
have done that. I know want of sleep sends
people mad. Mother told me. I hope your little
boy will soon be better, and — ”
“ Come on, Phil,” cried Peter, angrily.
“I give you my sacred honour-word we’ll never
tell any one. Kiss and be friends,” said Phyllis,
feeling how noble it was of her to try to make up
a quarrel in which she was not to blame.
The signalman stooped and kissed her.
“ I do believe I’m a bit off my head, Sissy,” he
said. “ Now run along home to Mother. I didn’t
mean to put you about — there.”
So Phil left the hot signal-box and followed
Peter across the fields to the farm.
When the farm men, led by Peter and Phyllis
and carrying a hurdle covered with horse-cloths,
reached the manhole in the tunnel, Bobbie was
fast asleep and so was Jim. Worn out with the
pain, the Doctor said afterwards.
“ Where does he live ? ” the bailiff from the
farm asked, when Jim had been lifted on to the
hurdle.
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME
265
iC In Northumberland,” answered Bobbie.
“ I’m at school at Maidbridge,” said Jim. “ I
suppose I’ve got to get back there, somehow.”
“ Seems to me the Doctor ought to have a look
in first,” said the bailiff.
“ Oh, bring him up to our house,” said Bobbie.
“ It’s only a little way by the road. I’m sure
Mother would say we ought to.”
“ Will your Ma like you bringing home strangers
with broken legs ? ”
“She took the poor Russian home herself,” said
Bobbie. “ I know she’d say we ought.”
“All right,” said the bailiff, “you ought to know
what your Ma ’ud like. I wouldn’t take it upon
me to fetch him up to our place without I asked
the Missus first, and they call me the Master, too.”
“ Are you sure your Mother won’t mind ? ”
whispered Jim.
“ Certain,” said Bobbie.
“ Then we’re to take him up to Three Chim-
neys ? ” said the bailiff.
“ Of course,” said Peter.
« Then my lad shall nip up to Doctor’s on
his bike, and tell him to come down there. Now,
lads, lift him quiet and steady. One, two, three ! ”
########
266
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Thus it happened that Mother, writing away
for dear life at a story about a Duchess, a design-
ing villain, a secret passage, and a missing will,
dropped her pen as her work-room door burst open,
and turned to see Bobbie hatless and red with
running.
“ Oh, Mother,” she cried, “do come down. We
found a hound in a red jersey in the tunnel, and he’s
broken his leg and they’re bringing him home.”
“ They ought to take him to the vet,” said
Mother, with a worried frown ; “ I really can't have
a lame dog here.”
“ H e’s not a dog, really — he’s a boy,” said
Bobbie, between laughing and choking.
“ Then he ought to be taken home to his
Mother.”
“ His mother’s dead,” said Bobbie, “ and his
father’s in Northumberland. Oh, Mother, you will
be nice to him ? I told him I was sure you’d want
us to bring him home. You always want to help
everybody.”
Mother smiled, but she sighed, too. It is nice
that your children should believe you willing to
open house and heart to any and every one who
needs help. But it’s rather embarrassing some
times, too, when they act on their belief.
WHAT BOBBIE BROUGHT HOME 267
“ Oh, well,” said Mother, “ we must make the
best of it.”
When Jim was carried in, dreadfully white and
with set lips whose red had faded to a horrid
bluey violet colour, Mother said : —
“ I am glad you brought him here. Now, Jim,
let’s get you comfortable in bed before the Doctor
comes ! ”
And Jim, looking at her kind eyes, felt a little,
warm, comforting flush of new courage.
“ It’ll hurt rather, won’t it ? ” he said. “ I don’t
mean to be a coward. You won’t think I’m a
coward if I faint again, will you ? I really and
truly don’t do it on purpose. And I do hate to
give you all this trouble.”
“ Don’t you worry,” said Mother ; “ it’s you that
have the trouble, you poor dear — not us.”
And she kissed him just as if he had been Peter.
“ We love to have you here — don’t we, Bobby ? ”
“ Yes,” said Bobby, — and she saw by her
Mother’s face how right she had been to bring
home the wounded hound in the red jersey.
CHAPTER XIII
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER
Mother did not get back to her writing all that
day, for the red-jerseyed hound whom the children
had brought to Three Chimneys had to be put to
bed. And then the Doctor came, and hurt him
most horribly. Mother was with him all through
it, and that made it a little better than it would
have been, but “ bad was the best,” as Mrs.Viney
said.
The children sat in the parlour downstairs and
heard the sound of the Doctor’s boots going back-
wards and forwards over the bedroom floor. And
once or twice there was a groan.
“ It’s horrible,” said Bobbie. “ Oh, I wish Dr.
Forrest would make haste. Oh, poor Jim ! ”
“ It is horrible,” said Peter, “ but it’s very excit-
ing. I wish Doctors weren’t so stuck-up about
who they’ll have in the room when they’re doing
things. I should most awfully like to see a leg
set. I believe the bones crunch like anything.”
“ Don’t!” said the two girls at once.
268
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER
269
“ Rubbish ! ” said Peter. “ How are you going
to be Red Cross Nurses, like you were talking of
coming home, if you can’t even stand hearing me
say about bones crunching? You’d have to hear
them crunch on the field of battle — and be steeped
in gore up to the elbows as likely as not, and — ”
“ Stop it ! ” cried Bobbie, with a white face ;
“ you don’t know how funny you’re making me
feel.”
“ Me, too,” said Phyllis, whose face was pink.
“ Cowards ! ” said Peter.
“ I’m not,” said Bobbie. “ I helped mother with
your rake-wounded foot, and so did Phil — you
know we did.”
“ Well, then ! ” said Peter. “ Now look here.
It would be a jolly good thing for you if I were
to talk to you every day for half an hour about
broken bones and people’s insides, so as to get
you used to it.”
A chair was moved above.
“ Listen,” said Peter, “that’s the bone crunch-
ing.”
“ I do wish you wouldn’t,” said Phyllis.
“Bobbie doesn’t like it.”
“ I’ll tell you what they do,” said P eter. I
can’t think what made him so horrid. Perhaps
270
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
it was because he had been so very nice and
kind all the earlier part of the day, and now
he had to have a change. This is called reac-
tion. One notices it now and then in one’s self.
Sometimes when one has been extra good for
a longer time than usual, one is suddenly attacked
by a violent fit of not being good at all. i “I’ll
tell you what they do,” said Peter ; “ they strap
the broken man down so that he can’t resist or
interfere with their doctorish designs, and then
some one holds his head, and some one holds his
leg — the broken one, and pulls it till the bones
fit in — with a crunch, mind you ! Then they
strap it up and — let’s play at bone-setting ! ”
“ Oh, no ! ” said Phyllis.
But Bobbie said suddenly : “ All right — let's !
I’ll be the Doctor, and Phil can be the nurse.
You can be the broken bones ; we can get at your
legs more easily, because you don’t wear petticoats.”
“ I’ll get the splints and bandages,” said
Peter ; “ you get the couch of suffering ready.”
The ropes that had tied up the boxes that
had come from home were all in a wooden
packing-case in the cellar. When Peter brought
in a trailing tangle of them, and two boards
for splints, Phyllis was excitedly giggling.
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER
271
“ Now, then,” he said, and lay down on the
settle, groaning most grievously.
“ Not so loud ! ” said Bobbie, beginning to wind
the ropes round him and the settle. “You pull,
Phil.”
“Not so tight,” moaned Peter. “You’ll break
my other leg.”
Bobbie worked on in silence, winding more and
more rope round him.
“ That’s enough,” said Peter. « I can’t move at
all. Oh, my poor leg ! ” He groaned again.
“ Sure you can’t move ? ” asked Bobbie, in a
rather strange tone.
“ Quite sure,” replied Peter. “ Shall we play
it’s bleeding freely or not ? ” he asked cheerfully.
« You can play what you like,” said Bobbie,
sternly, folding her arms and looking down at him
where he lay all wound round and round with
cord. “ Phil and I are going away. And we
shan’t untie you till you promise never never to
talk to us about blood and wounds unless we say
you may. Come, Phil ! ”
“ You beast,” said Peter, writhing. « I’ll never
promise, never. I’ll yell, and Mother will come.”
“ Do,” said Bobbie, “ and tell her why we tied
you up ! Come on, Phil. No, I’m not a beast
272
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Peter. But you wouldn’t stop when we asked
you and — ”
“ Yah,” said Peter, “ it wasn’t even your own
idea. You got it out of Stalky ! ”
Bobbie and Phil, retiring in silent dignity, were
met at the door by the Doctor. He came in
rubbing his hands and looking pleased with him-
self.
“ Well,” he said, “ that job’s done. It’s a nice
clean fracture, and it’ll go on all right, I’ve no
doubt. Plucky young chap, too — hullo ! what’s
all this ? ”
His eye had fallen on Peter who lay mousy-still
in his bonds on the settle.
“ Playing at prisoners, eh ? ” he said ; but his
eyebrows had gone up a little. Somehow he had
not thought that Bobbie would be playing while
in the room above some one was having a broken
bone set.
“ Oh, no ! ” said Bobbie, “ not at prisoners. We
were playing at setting bones. Peter’s the broken
boner, and I was the doctor.”
“ I was the nurse,” put in Phyllis, cheerfully.
The Doctor frowned.
“ Then I must say,” he said, and he said it
rather sternly, “ that it’s a very heartless game.
THE HOUND'S GRANDFATHER
273
Haven’t you enough imagination even to faintly
picture what’s been going on upstairs ? That
poor chap, with the drops of sweat on his fore-
head, and biting his lips so as not to cry out,
and every touch on his leg agony and — ”
“ You ought to be tied up,” said Phyllis ; “ you’re
as bad as — ”
“ Hush,” said Bobbie ; “ Pm sorry, but we weren’t
heartless, really.”
“ I was, I suppose,” said Peter, crossly. “ All
right, Bobbie, don’t you go on being noble and
screening me, because I jolly well won’t have
it. It was only that I kept on talking about
blood and wounds. I wanted to train them for
Red Cross Nurses. And I wouldn’t stop when
they asked me.”
“ Well,” said Dr. Forrest, sitting down.
“Well — then I said, ‘Let’s play at setting
bones.’ It was all rot. I knew Bobbie wouldn’t.
I only said it to tease her. And then when she
said ‘ yes,’ of course I had to go through with
it. And they tied me up. They got it out
of Stalky. And I think it’s a beastly shame.”
He managed to writhe over and hide his face
against the wooden back of the settle.
“ I didn’t think that any one would know but
274
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
us,” said Bobbie, indignantly answering Peter’s
unspoken reproach. “ I never thought of your
coming in. And hearing about blood and wounds
does really make me feel most awfully funny. It
was only a joke our tying him up. Let me untie
you, Pete.”
“ I don’t care if you never untie me,” said Peter ;
“and if that’s your idea of a joke — ”
“ If I were you,” said the Doctor, though really
he did not quite know what to say, “ I should
be untied before your Mother comes down. You
don’t want to worry her, just now, do you ? ”
“ I don’t promise anything about not saying
about wounds, mind,” said Peter, in very surly
tones, as Bobbie and Phyllis began to untie the
knots.
“ I’m very sorry, Pete,” Bobbie whispered, lean-
ing close to him as she fumbled with the big knot
under the settle ; “ but if you only knew how sick
you made me feel.”
“ You’ve made me feel pretty sick, I can tell you,”
Peter rejoined. Then he shook off the loose cords,
and stood up.
“ I looked in,” said Dr. Forrest, “ to see if one of
you would come along to the surgery. There are
some things that your Mother will want at once,
THE HOUND'S GRANDFATHER 275
and I’ve given my man a day off to go and see the
circus ; will you come, Peter ? ”
Peter went without a word or a look to his
sisters.
The two walked in silence up to the gate that
led from the Three Chimneys field to the road.
Then Peter said : —
“ Let me carry your bag. I say, it is heavy —
what’s in it ?
“ Oh, knives and lancets and different instru
ments for hurting people. And the ether bottle.
I had to give him ether, you know — the agony
was so intense.”
Peter was silent.
“ Tell me all about how you found that chap,”
said Dr. Forrest.
Peter told. And then Dr. Forrest told him
stories of brave rescues ; he was a most interest-
ing man to talk to, as Peter had often remarked.
Then in the surgery Peter had a better chance
than he had ever had of examining the Doctor’s bal-
ance, and his microscope, and his scales and meas-
uring glasses. When all the things were ready that
Peter was to take back, the Doctor said suddenly : —
“ You’ll excuse my shoving my oar in, won’t you ?
But I should like to say something to you.”
276
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Now for a rowing,” thought Peter, who had
been wondering how it was that he had escaped
one.
“ Something scientific,” added the Doctor.
“Yes,” said Peter, fiddling with the fossil am-
monite that the Doctor used for a paper-weight.
“Well,” said the Doctor, “you know men have
to do the work of the world and not be afraid of
anything — so they have to be hardy and brave.
But women have to take care of their babies and
cuddle them and nurse them and be very patient
and gentle.”
“ Yes,” said Peter, wondering what was coming
next.
“Well, then, you see. Boys and girls are only
little men and women. And we are much harder
and hardier than they are — ” (Peter liked the “we.”
Perhaps the Doctor had known he would.) — “ and
much stronger, and things that hurt them don’t
hurt us. You know you mustn’t hit a girl — ”
“ I should think not, indeed,” muttered Peter,
indignantly.
“ Not even if she’s your own sister. That’s be-
cause girls are so much softer and weaker than
we are; they have to be, you know,” he added,
“because if they weren’t, it wouldn’t be nice for
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER
277
the babies. And that’s why all the animals are
so good to the Mother animals. They never fight
them, you know.”
“ I know,” said Peter, interested ; “ two buck
rabbits will fight all day if you let them, but they
won’t hurt a doe.”
u No ; and quite wild beasts — lions and ele-
phants — they’re immensely gentle with the female
beasts. And we’ve got to be, too.”
“ I see,” said Peter.
“ And their hearts are soft, too,” the Doctor went
on, “ and things that we shouldn’t think anything
of hurt them dreadfully. So that a man has to be
very careful, not only of his fists, but of his words.
They’re awfully brave, you know,” he went on.
“ Think of Bobbie waiting alone in the tunnel with
that poor chap. It’s an odd thing — the softer
and more easily hurt a woman is the better she
can screw herself up to do what has to be done.
I’ve seen some brave women — Your Mother’s
one,” he ended abruptly.
“ Yes,” said Peter.
“Well, that’s all. Excuse my mentioning it.
But nobody knows everything without being told.
And you see what I mean, don’t you ? ”
“ Yes,” said Peter. “ I’m sorry. There ! ”
278
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Of course you are ! People always are —
directly they understand. Every one ought to be
taught these scientific facts. So long ! ”
They shook hands heartily. When Peter came
home, his sisters looked at him doubtfully.
“ It’s Pax,” said Peter, dumping down the basket
on the table. “ Dr. Forrest has been talking scien-
tific to me. No, it’s no use my telling you what
he said ; you wouldn’t understand. But it all
comes to you girls being poor, soft, weak, frightened
things like rabbits, so us men have just got to put
up with them. He said you were female beasts.
Shall I take this up to Mother, or will you ? ”
“ I know what boys are,” said Phyllis, with flam-
ing cheeks ; “ they’re just the nastiest, rudest — ”
“ They’re very brave,” said Bobbie, “ some-
times.”
“ Ah, you mean the chap upstairs ? I see. Go
ahead, Phil — I shall put up with you whatever
you say because you’re a poor, weak, frightened,
soft — ”
“ Not if I pull your hair you won’t,” said Phyllis,
springing at him.
“ He said 6 Pax, ’” said Bobbie, pulling her away.
“ Don’t you see,” she whispered as Peter picked up
the basket and stalked out with it, “he’s sorry,
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER 279
really, only he won’t say so? Let’s say we’re
sorry.”
“ It’s so goody goody,” said Phyllis, doubtfully ;
“ he said we were female beasts, and soft and
frightened — ”
“ Then let’s show him we’re not frightened of
him thinking us goody goody,” said Bobbie ; “ and
we’re not any more beasts than he is.”
And when Peter came back, still with his chin
in the air, Bobbie said : —
“ We’re sorry we tied you up, Pete.”
“ I thought you would be,” said Peter, very stiff
and superior.
This was hard to bear. But —
“ Well, so we are,” said Bobbie. “ Now let hon-
our be satisfied on both sides.”
“ I did call it Pax,” said Peter, in an injured
tone.
“ Then let it be Pax,” said Bobbie. “ Come on,
Phil, let’s get the tea. Pete, you might lay the
cloth.”
“ I say,” said Phyllis, when peace was really
restored, which was not till they were washing up
the cups after tea, “ Dr. Forrest didn’t really say
we were female beasts, did he ? ”
“Yes,” said Peter, firmly, “but I think he meant
we men were wild beasts, too.”
280
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ How funny of him ! ” said Phyllis, breaking a
cup.
########
“ May I come in, Mother ? ” Peter was at the
door of Mother’s writing room, where Mother sat
at her table with two candles in front of her.
Their flames looked orange and violet against the
clear gray blue of the sky where already a few stars
were twinkling.
“Yes, dear,” said Mother, absently, “anything
wrong ? ” She wrote a few more words and then
laid down her pen and began to fold up what she
had written. “ I was just writing to Jim’s grand-
father. He lives near here, you know.”
“ Yes, you said so at tea. That’s what I want
to say. Must you write to him, Mother? Couldn’t
we keep Jim, and not say anything to his people
till he’s well ? It would be such a surprise for
them.”
“ Well, yes,” said Mother, laughing, “ I think it
would.”
“ You see,” Peter went on. “ Of course the girls
are all right and all that — Pm not saying anything
against them. But I should like it if I had an-
other chap to talk to sometimes.”
“Yes,” said Mother, “I know it’s dull for you,
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER
281
dear. But I can’t help it. Next year perhaps I can
send you to school — you’d like that, wouldn’t
you ? ”
“ I do miss the other chaps, rather,” Peter con-
fessed ; « but if Jim could stay after his leg was
well, we could have awful larks.”
“ I’ve no doubt of it,” said Mother. « Well —
perhaps he could, but you know, dear, we’re not
rich. I can’t afford to get him everything he’ll
want. And he must have a nurse.”
“Can’t you nurse him, Mother? You do nurse
people so beautifully.”
“ That’s a pretty compliment, Pete — but I can’t
do nursing and my writing as well. That’s the
worst of it.”
“ Then you must send the letter to his grand-
father ? ”
“ Of course — and to his schoolmaster, too.
We telegraphed to them both, but I must write as
well. They’ll be most dreadfully anxious.”
“ I say, Mother, why can’t his grandfather
pay for a nurse ? ” Peter suggested. “ That would
be ripping. I expect the old boy’s rolling in
money. Grandfathers in books always are.”
“ Well, this one isn’t in a book,” said Mother,
“ so we mustn’t expect him to roll much.”
282
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“I say,” said Peter, musingly, “wouldn’t it be
jolly if we all were in a book, and you were writ-
ing it ? Then you could make all sorts of jolly
things happen, and make Jim’s legs get well at
once and be all right to-morrow, and Father come
home soon and — ”
“ Do you miss your Father very much ? ” Mother
asked, rather coldly, Peter thought.
“ Awfully,” said Peter, briefly.
Mother was enveloping and addressing the
second letter.
“You see,” Peter went on slowly, “you see it’s
not only him being Father, but now he’s away
there’s no other man in the house but me — that’s
why I want Jim to stay so frightfully much.
Wouldn’t you like to be writing that book with
us all in it, Mother, and make Daddy come home
soon ? ”
Peter’s Mother put her arm round him suddenly,
and hugged him in silence for a minute. Then
she said : —
« Don’t you think it’s rather nice to think that
we’re in a book that God’s writing ? If I were
writing the book, I might make mistakes. But
God knows how to make the story end just right
— in the way that’s best for us.”
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER 283
“ Do you really believe that, Mother ? ” Peter
asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said, “I do believe it — almost
alwaj^s — except when I’m so sad that I can’t
believe anything. But even when I can’t believe
it, I know it’s true — and I try to believe it. You
don’t know how I try, Peter. Now take the letters
to the post, and don’t let’s be sad any more.
Courage, courage ! That’s the finest of all the
virtues! I dare say Jim will be here for two or
three weeks yet.”
For what w T as left of the evening Peter was so
angelic that Bobbie feared he was going to be ill.
She was quite relieved in the morning to find him
plaiting Phyllis’s hair on the back of her chair in
quite his old manner.
It was soon after breakfast that a knock came
at the door. The children were hard at work
cleaning the brass candlesticks in honour of
Jim’s visit.
“ That’ll be the Doctor,” said Mother ; “ I’ll go.
Shut the kitchen door — you’re not fit to be
seen.”
But it wasn’t the Doctor. They knew that by
the voice and by the sound of the boots that went
upstairs. They did not recognise the sound of the
284
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
boots, but every one was certain that it had heard
the voice before.
There was a longish interval. The boots and
the voice did not come down again.
“ Who can it possibly be ? ” they kept on ask-
ing themselves and each other.
“ Perhaps,” said Peter at last, “ Dr. Forrest has
been attacked by highwaymen and left for dead,
and this is the man he’s telegraphed for to take
his place. Mrs. Viney said he had a local tenant
to do his work when he went for a holiday, didn’t
you, Mrs. Viney ? ”
“ I did so, my dear,” said Mrs. Viney from the
back kitchen.
“ He’s fallen down in a fit, more likely,” said
Phyllis, “all human aid despaired of. And this
is his man come to break the news to Mother.”
“ Nonsense ! ” said Peter, briskly ; “ Mother
wouldn’t have taken the man up into Jim’s
bedroom. Why should she? Listen — the door’s
opening. Now they’ll come down. I’ll open
the door a crack.”
He did.
“ It’s not listening,” he replied indignantly to
Bobbie’s scandalised remarks ; “ nobody in their
senses would talk sectets on the stairs. And
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER 285
Mother can’t have secrets to talk with Dr. Forrest’s
stable-man — and you said it was him.”
“ Bobbie,” called Mother’s voice.
They opened the kitchen door, and Mother
leaned over the stair railing.
“ Jim’s grandfather has come,” she said ; “ wash
your hands and faces and then you can see him.
He wants to see you ! ” The bedroom door shut
again.
“ There now ! ” said Peter ; “ fancy us not even
thinking of that ! Let’s have some hot water,
Mrs. Viney. I’m as black as your hat.”
The three were indeed dirty, for the stuff you
clean brass candlesticks with is very far from
cleaning to the cleaner.
They were still busy with soap and flannel when
they heard the boots and the voice come down the
stairs and go into the dining room. And when
they were clean, though still damp, — because it
takes such a long time to dry your hands properly,
and they were very impatient to see the grand-
father, — they filed into the dining room.
Mother was sitting in the window-seat, and in
the leather-covered arm-chair that Father always
used to sit in at the other house sat —
THEIR OWN ’ OLD GENTLEMAN !
286
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Well, I never did,” said Peter, even before he
said, “ How do you do ? ” He was, as he explained
afterwards, too surprised even to remember that
there was such a thing as politeness — much less
to practise it.
“ IPs our own old gentleman ! ” said Phyllis.
“ Oh, it’s you ! ” said Bobbie. And then they
remembered themselves and their manners and
said, “ How do you do ? ” very nicely.
“ This is Jim’s grandfather, Mr. ” said
Mother, naming the old gentleman’s name.
“ How splendid ! ” said Peter ; « that’s just
exactly like a book, isn’t it, Mother ? ”
“ It is, rather,” said Mother, smiling ; “ things
do happen in real life that are rather like books,
sometimes.”
“ I am so awfully glad it is you,” said Phyllis,
“ when you think of the tons of old gentlemen
there are in the world — it might have been
almost any one.”
“ I say, though,” said Peter, “ you’re not going
to take Jim away, though, are you?”
“ Not at present,” said the old gentleman.
“ Your Mother has most kindly consented to let
him stay here. I thought of sending a nurse
but your Mother is good enough to say that she
will nurse him herself.”
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER
287
“ But what about her writing ? ” said Peter, be-
fore any one could stop him. “ There won’t be any-
thing for him to eat if Mother doesn’t write.”
“ That’s all right,” said Mother, hastily.
The old gentleman looked very kindly at
Mother.
“ I see,” he said, “ you trust your children, and
confide in them.”
“Of course,” said Mother.
“ Then I may tell them of our little arrange-
ment,” he said. “ Your Mother, my dears, has
consented to give up writing for a little while and
to become Matron of my Hospital.”
“ Oh ! ” said Phyllis, blankly ; “ and shall we have
to go away from Three Chimneys and the Railway
and everything ? ”
“ No, no, darling,” said Mother, hurriedly.
“ The Hospital is called Three Chimneys Hospi-
tal,” said the old gentleman, “and my unlucky
Jim’s the only patient, and I hope he’ll continue
to be so. Your Mother will be Matron, and there’ll
be a hospital staff for a housemaid and a cook —
till Jim’s well.”
“ And then will Mother go on writing again ? ”
asked Peter.
“ We shall see,” said the old gentleman, with a
288
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
slight swift glance at Bobbie ; “ perhaps something
nice may happen and she won’t have to.”
“ I love my writing,” said Mother, very quickly.
“ I know,” said the old gentleman ; “ don’t be
afraid that I’m going to try to interfere. But one
never knows. Very wonderful and beautiful
things do happen, don’t they ? And we live most
of our lives in the hope of them. I may come
again to see the boy ? ”
“ Surely,” said Mother, “ and I don’t know how
to thank you for making it possible for me to nurse
him. Dear boy.”
“ He kept calling Mother, Mother, in the night,”
said Phyllis. “ I woke up twice and heard
him.”
“ He didn’t mean me,” said Mother, in a low
voice to the old gentleman ; « that’s why I wanted
so much to keep him.”
The old gentlemen rose.
“ I’m so glad,” said Peter, “ that you’re going to
keep him, Mother.”
“ Take care of your Mother, my dears,” said the
old gentleman. “ She’s a woman in a million.”
“ Yes, isn’t she ? ” whispered Bobbie.
“ God bless her,” said the old gentleman, taking
both Mother’s hands, “ God bless her ! Ay, and
THE HOUND’S GRANDFATHER
289
she shall be blessed. Dear me, where’s my hat ?
Will Bobbie come with me to the gate ? ”
At the gate he stopped and said : —
“You’re a good child, my dear — I got your
letter. But it wasn’t needed. When I read about
your Father’s case in the papers at the time, I
had my doubts. And ever since I’ve known who
you were, I’ve been trying to find out things. I
haven’t done very much yet. But I have hopes,
my dear — I have hopes.”
“ Oh ! ” said Bobbie, choking a little.
“ Yes — I may say great hopes. But keep your
secret a little longer. Wouldn’t do to upset your
Mother with a false hope, would it ? ”
“ Oh, but it isn’t false ! ” said Bobbie ; “ I know
you can do it. I knew you could when I wrote.
It isn’t a false hope, is it ? ”
« No,” he said, “ I don’t think it’s a false hope,
or I wouldn’t have told you. And I think you
deserve to be told that there is a hope.”
“ And you don’t think Father did it, do you ?
Oh, say you don’t think he did.”
“ My dear,” he said, “ I’m perfectly certain he
didn’t.”
If it was a false hope, it was none the less a
very radiant one that lay warm at Bobbie’s heart,
290
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
and through the days that followed lighted her
little face as a Japanese lantern is lighted by the
candle within.
CHAPTER XIV
THE END
Life at the Three Chimneys was never quite
the same again after the old gentleman came to
see his grandson. Although they now knew his
name, the children never spoke of him by it, — at
any rate, when they were by themselves. To
them he was always the old gentleman, and I
think he had better be the old gentleman to us,
too. It wouldn’t make him seem any more real
to you, would it, if I were to tell you that his
name was Snooks or Jenkins (which it wasn’t)? —
and, after all, I must be allowed to keep one secret.
It’s the only one ; I have told you everything else,
except what I am going to tell you in this chapter,
which is the last. At least, of course I haven’t
told you everything. If I were to do that, the book
would never come to an end, and that would be
a pity, wouldn’t it ?
Well, as I was saying, life at Three Chimneys
was never quite the same again. The cook and
the housemaid were very nice (I don’t mind telling
291
292
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
you their names — they were Clara and Ethelwyn),
but they did not seem to want Mrs. Viney, and
they told Mother that she was an old muddler.
So Mrs. Viney only came two days a week to do
washing and ironing. Then Clara and Ethelwyn
said they could do the work all right if they
weren’t interfered with, and that meant that the
children no longer got the tea and cleared it away
and washed up the tea-things and dusted the rooms.
This would have left quite a blank in their lives,
although they had often pretended to themselves
and to each other that they hated housework.
But now that Mother had no writing and no house-
work to do, she had time for lessons. And lessons
the children had to do. However nice the person
who is teaching you may be, lessons are lessons all
the world over, and at their best are worse fun
than peeling potatoes or lighting a fire.
On the other hand, if Mother now had time for
lessons, she also had time for play, and to make
up little rhymes for the children as she used to do.
She had not had much time for rhymes since she
came to Three Chimmeys.
There was one very odd thing about these les-
sons. Whatever the children were doing, they
always wanted to be doing something else. When
THE END
293
Peter was doing his Latin, he thought it would be
nice to be learning History like Bobbie. Bobbie
would have preferred Arithmetic, which was what
Phyllis happened to be doing, and Phyllis of course
thought Latin much the most interesting kind of
lesson. And so on.
So, one day, when they sat down to lessons, each
of them found a little rhyme at its place. I put
the rhymes in to shew you that their Mother really
did understand a little how children feel about
things, and also the kind of words they use, which
is the case with very very few grown-up people.
I suppose most grown-ups have very bad memories,
and have forgotten how they felt when they were
little. Of course the verses are supposed to be
spoken by the children.
Peter
I once thought Caesar easy pap —
How very soft I must have been !
When they start Caesar with a chap
He little knows what that will mean.
Oh, verbs are silly stupid things.
I’d rather learn the dates of kings !
Bobbie
The worst of all my lesson things
Is learning who succeeded who
294
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
In all the rows of queens and kings,
With dates to everything they do :
With dates enough to make you sick ; —
I wish it was Arithmetic !
Phyllis
Such pounds and pounds of apples fill
My slate — what is the price you’d spend ?
You scratch the figures out until
You cry upon the dividend.
I’d break the slate and scream for joy
If I did Latin like a boy !
This kind of thing, of course, made lessons much
jollier. It is something to know that the person
who is teaching you sees that it is not all plain
sailing for you, does not think that it is just your
stupidness that makes you not know your lessons
till you’ve learned them !
Then as Jim’s leg got better it was very pleasant
to go up and sit with him and hear tales about his
school life and the other boys. There was one
boy, named Parr, of whom Jim seemed to have
formed the lowest possible opinion, and another
boy named Wigsby Minor, for whose views Jim
had a great respect. Also there were three broth-
ers named Paley, and the youngest was called
Paley Terts, and was much given to fighting.
Peter drank in all this with deep joy, and
THE END
295
Mother seemed to have listened with some in-
terest, for one day she gave Jim a sheet of paper
on which she had written a rhyme about Parr,
bringing in Paley and Wigsby by name in a most
wonderful way, as well as all the reasons Jim had
for not liking Parr, and Wigsby’s wise opinion on
the matter. Jim was immensely pleased. He had
never had a rhyme written expressly for him be-
fore. He read it till he knew it by heart and then
he sent it to Wigsby, who liked it almost as much
as Jim did. Perhaps you may like it, too.
THE NEW BOY
His name is Parr : he says that he
Is given bread and milk for tea.
He says his father killed a bear.
He says his mother cuts his hair.
He wears goloshes when it’s wet.
Fve heard his people call him “ Pet ” !
He has no proper sense of shame ;
He told the chaps his Christian name.
He cannot wicket-keep at all,
He’s frightened of a cricket ball.
He reads, indoors, for hours and hours.
He knows the names of beastly flowers.
He says his French just like Mossoo —
A beastly stuck-up thing to do —
He won’t keep cave , shirks his turn
And says he came to school to learn !
296
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
He won’t play football, says it hurts ;
He wouldn’t fight with Paley Terts ;
He couldn’t whistle if he tried,
And when we laughed at him he cried !
Now, Wigsby Minor says that Parr
Is only like all new boys are.
I know when I first came to school
I wasn’t such a jolly fool !
Jim could not understand how Mother could have
been clever enough to do it. To the others it
seemed nice, but natural. You see they had
always been used to having a mother who could
write verses just like the way people talk, even to
the shocking expression at the end of the rhyme,
which was Jim’s very own.
Jim taught Peter to play chess and draughts
and dominoes, and altogether it was a nice quiet
time.
Only Jim’s leg got better and better, and a
general feeling began to spring up among Bobbie,
Peter, and Phyllis that something ought to be done
to amuse him ; not just games, but something
really handsome. But it was extraordinarily
difficult to think of anything.
66 It’s no good,” said Peter, when all of them
had thought and thought till their heads felt quite
THE END
297
heavy and swollen ; 44 if we can’t think of anything
to amuse him, we just can’t, and there’s an end of
it. Perhaps something will just happen of its
own accord that he’ll like.”
44 Things do happen by themselves sometimes,
without your making them,” said Phyllis, rather
as though, usually, everything that happened in
the world was her doing.
44 1 wish something would happen,” said Bobbie,
dreamily, 44 something wonderful.”
And something wonderful did happen exactly
four days after she had said this. I wish I could
say it was three days after, because in fairy tales
it is always three days after that things happen.
But this is not a fairy story, and besides, it really
was four and not three, and I am nothing if not
strictly truthful.
They seemed to be hardly Railway children at
all in those days, and as the days went on each
had an uneasy feeling about this which Phyllis
expressed one day.
44 1 wonder if the Railway misses us,” she said
plaintively. 44 We never go to see it now.”
44 It seems ungrateful,’ ’ said Bobbie; 44 we loved
it so when we hadn’t any one else to play with.”
44 Perks is always coming up to ask after Jim,”
298
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
said Peter, “ and the signalman’s little boy is
better. He told me so.”
“ I didn’t mean the people,” explained Phyllis ;
“ I meant the dear Railway itself.”
“ The thing I don’t like,” said Bobbie, on this
fourth day, which was a Tuesday, “ is our having
stopped waving to the 9.15 and sending our love to
Father by it.”
“ Let’s begin again to-morrow,” said Phyllis.
And they did.
Somehow the change of everything that was
made by having servants in the house and Mother
not doing any writing, made the time seem ex-
tremely long since that strange morning at the be-
ginning of things, when they had got up so early
and burnt the bottom out of the kettle and had
apple pie for breakfast and first seen the Railway.
It was September now, and the turf on the slope
to the Railway was dry and crisp. Little long
grass spikes stood up like bits of gold wire, frail
blue harebells trembled on their tough, slender
stalks, Gipsy roses opened wide and flat their lilac-
coloured discs, and the golden stars of St. John’s
Wort shone at the edges of the pool that lay half
way to the Railway. Bobbie gathered a generous
handful of the flowers and thought how pretty
THE END
299
they would look lying on the green-and-pink
blanket of silk-waste that now covered Jim’s poor
broken leg.
“ Hurry up,” said Peter, “ or we shall miss the
9 . 15 !”
“ I can’t hurry more than I am doing,” said
Phyllis. “ Oh, bother it ! my bootlace has come
undone again ! ”
“ When you’re married,” said Peter, “ your boot-
lace will come undone going up the church aisle,
and your man that you’re going to get married to
will tumble over it and smash his nose in on the
ornamented pavement; and then you’ll say you
won’t marry him, and you’ll have to be an old
maid.”
“ I shan’t,” said Phyllis. “ I’d much rather marry
a man with his nose smashed in than not marry
anybody.”
“ It would be horrid to marry a man with a
smashed nose, all the same,” went on Bobbie. “ He
wouldn’t be able to smell the flowers at the wed-
ding. Wouldn’t that be awful ! ”
“ Bother the flowers at the wedding ! ” cried
Peter. “Look! the signal’s down. We must
run ! ”
They ran. And once more they waved their
300
THE RAILAY CHILDREN
handkerchiefs, without at all minding whether the
handkerchiefs were clean or not, to the 9.15.
“ Take our love to Father ! ” cried Bobbie. And
the others, too, shouted : —
“ Take our love to Father ! ”
The old gentleman waved from his first-class
carriage window. Quite violently he waved.
And there was nothing odd in that, for he always
had waved. But what was really remarkable was
that from every window handkerchiefs fluttered,
newspapers signalled, hands waved wildly. The
train swept by with a rustle and roar, the little
pebbles jumped and danced under it as it passed,
and the children were left looking at each other.
“Well ! ” said Peter.
“ Well ! ” said Bobbie.
“ Well ! ” said Phyllis.
“ Whatever on earth does that mean ? ” asked
Peter, but he did not expect any answer.
“ I don’t know,” said Bobbie. “ Perhaps the
old gentleman told the people at his station to
look out for us and wave. He knew we should
like it ! ”
Now, curiously enough, this was just what
had happened. The old gentleman, who was
very well known and respected at his particular
THE END
301
station, had got there early that morning, and he
had waited at the door where the young man
stands holding the interesting machine that clips
the tickets, and he had said something to every
single passenger who passed through that door.
And after nodding to what the old gentleman
had said, — and the nods expressed every shade
of surprise, interest, doubt, cheerful pleasure, and
grumpy agreement, — each passenger had gone on
to the platform and read one certain part of it.
And when the passengers got into the train, they
had told the other passengers who were already
there what the old gentleman had said, and then
the other passengers had also looked in their
newspapers and seemed very astonished and,
mostly, pleased. Then, when the train, passed
the fence where the three children were, news-
papers and hands and handkerchiefs were waved
madly, till all that side of the train was fluttery
with white like the pictures of the King’s Corona-
tion in the biograph at Maskelyne and Cook’s. To
the children it almost seemed as though the train
itself was alive, and was at last responding to
the love that they had given it so freely and so
long.
“ It is most extraordinary rum ! ” said Peter.
302
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ Most stronery ! ” echoed Phyllis.
But Bobbie said, “ Don’t you think the old
gentleman’s waves seemed more significating than
usual ? ”
“ No,” said the others.
“ I do,” said Bobbie. “ I thought he was trying
to explain something to us with his newspaper.”
“ Explain what ? ” asked Peter, not unnaturally.
“/ don’t know,” Bobbie answered, “but I do
feel most awfully funny. I feel just exactly as
if something was going to happen.”
“ What is going to happen,” said Peter, “ is that
Phyllis’s stocking is going to come down.”
This was but too true. The suspender had
given way in the agitation of the waves to the 9.15.
Bobbie’s handkerchief served as first aid to the
injured, and they all went home.
Lessons were more than usually difficult to
Bobbie that day. Indeed, she disgraced herself so
deeply over a quite simple sum about the division of
48 pounds of meat and 36 pounds of bread among
144 hungry children that Mother looked at her
anxiously.
“ Don’t you feel quite well, dear ? ” she asked.
“ I don’t know,” was Bobbie’s unexpected answer.
“ I don’t know how I feel. It isn’t that I’m lazy.
THE END
303
Mother, will you let me off lessons to-day ? I feel
as if I wanted to be quite alone by myself.”
“Yes, of course I’ll let you off,” said Mother;
“ but — ”
Bobbie dropped her slate. It cracked just
across the little green mark that is so useful for
drawing patterns round, and it was never the same
slate again. Without waiting to pick it up she
bolted. Mother caught her in the hall feeling
blindly among the waterproofs and umbrellas for
her garden hat.
“ What is it, my sweetheart ? ” said Mother.
“ You don’t feel ill, do you ? ”
“ I don't know,” Bobbie answered, a little breath-
less, “ but I want to be by myself and see if my
head really is all silly and my inside all squirmy-
twisty.”
“ Hadn’t you better lie down ? ” Mother said,
stroking her hair back from her forehead.
“ I’d be more alive in the garden, I think,” said
Bobbie.
But she could not stay in the garden. The
hollyhocks and the asters and the late roses all
seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It
was one of those still shiny autumn days, when
everything does seem to be waiting.
Bobbie could not wait.
304
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ I’ll go down to the station,” she said, “ and talk
to Perks and ask about the signalman’s little boy.”
So she went down. On the way she passed the
old lady from the post-office, who gave her a kiss
and a hug, but, rather to Bobbie’s surprise, no
words except : —
“ God bless you, love — ” and, after a pause,
“ run along — do.”
The draper’s boy, who had sometimes been a
little less than civil and a little more than con-
temptuous, now touched his cap, and uttered the
remarkable words : —
“ ’ Morning, Miss, I’m sure — ”
The blacksmith, coming along with an open
newspaper in his hand, was even more strange in
his manner. He grinned broadly, though, as a rule,
he was a man not given to smiles, and waved the
newspaper long before he came up to her. And as
he passed her, he said, in answer to her “ Good
morning” : —
“ Good morning to you, Missie, and many of
them ! I wish you joy, that I do ! ”
“ Oh ! ” said Bobbie to herself, and her heart
quickened its beats, “ something is going to happen !
I know it is — every one is so odd, like people are
in dreams.”
THE END
305
The Station Master wrung her hand warmly.
In fact he worked it up and down like a pump-
handle. But he gave her no reason for this unusu-
ally enthusiastic greeting. He only said : —
“ The 11.54’s a bit late, Miss — the extra
luggage this holiday time,” and went away very
quickly into that inner Temple of his into which
even Bobbie dared not follow him.
Perks was not to be seen, and Bobbie shared
the solitude of the platform with the Station Cat.
This tortoise-shell lady, usually of a retiring dispo-
sition, came to-day to rub herself against the
brown stockings of Bobbie with arched back,
waving tail, and reverberating purrs.
“ Dear me ! ” said Bobbie, stooping to stroke
her, “ how very kind everybody is to-day — even
you, Pussy ! ”
Perks did not appear until the 11.54 was sig-
nalled, and then he, like everybody else that morn-
ing, had a newspaper in his hand.
“ Hullo ! ” he said, “ ’ere you are. Well, if
this is the train, it’ll be smart work ! Well, God
bless you, my dear ! I see it in the paper, and I
don’t think I was ever so glad of anything in all
my born ! ” He looked at Bobbie a moment and
then said, “ One I must have, Miss, and no offence,
X
306
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
I know, on a day like this ’ere ! ” and with that he
kissed her, first on one cheek, and then on the
other.
“You ain’t offended, are you?” he asked anx-
iously. “ I ain’t took too great a liberty ? On a
day like this, you know — ”
“No, no,” said Bobbie, “of course it’s not a
liberty, dear Mr. Perks ; we love you quite as much
as if you were an uncle of ours — but — on a day
like what ? ”
“ Like this ’ere ! ” said Perks. “ Don’t I tell you
I see it in the paper ? ”
“ Saw what in the paper ? ” asked Bobbie, but
already the 11.64 was steaming into the station
and the Station Master was looking at all the
places where Perks was not and ought to have
been.
Bobbie was left standing alone, the Station Cat
watching her from under the bench with friendly
golden eyes.
Of course you know already exactly what was
going to happen. Bobbie was not so clever. She
had the vague confused expectant feeling that
comes to one’s heart in dreams. What her heart
expected I can’t tell, — perhaps the very thing
that you and I know was going to happen, — but
THE END
307
her mind expected nothing ; it was almost blank,
and felt nothing but tiredness and stupidness and
an empty feeling like your body has when you
have been a long walk and it is very far indeed
past your proper dinner-time.
Only three people got out of the 11.54. The
first was a countryman with two baskety boxes
full of live chickens who stuck their russet heads
out anxiously through the wicker bars ; the second
was Miss Peckitt, the grocer’s wife’s cousin, with a
tin box and three brown paper parcels ; and the
third —
“ Oh ! my Daddy, my Daddy ! ” That scream
went like a knife into the heart of every one in the
train, and people put their heads out of the win-
dows to see a tall pale man with lips set in a thin
close line, and a little girl clinging to him with
arms and legs, while his arms went tightly round
her.
*#######
“ I knew something wonderful was going to
happen,” said Bobbie, as they went up the road,
“ but I didn’t think it was going to be this. Oh,
my Daddy, my Daddy ! ”
“ Then didn’t Mother get my letter ? ” Father
asked.
308
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
“ There weren’t any letters this morning.
“ Oh ! Daddy ! it is really you, isn’t it ? ”
The clasp of a hand she had not forgotten
assured her that it was.
“You must go in by yourself, Bobbie, and tell
Mother quite quietly that it’s all right. They’ve
caught the man who did it. Every one knows
now that it wasn’t your Daddy.”
“ 1 always knew it wasn’t,” said Bobbie. “ Me
and Mother and our old gentleman.”
“ Yes,” he said, “ it’s all his doing. Mother
wrote and told me you had found out. And she
told me what you’d been to her. My own little
girl ! ” They stopped a minute then.
And now I see them crossing the field. Bobbie
goes into the house, trying to keep her eyes from
speaking before her lips have found the right
words to “ tell Mother quite quietly ” that the
sorrow and the struggle and the parting are
over and done, and that Father has come home.
I see Father walking in the garden, waiting —
waiting. He is looking at the flowers, and each
flower is a miracle to eyes that all these months of
Spring and Summer have seen only flag-stones and
gravel and a little grudging grass. But his eyes
keep turning towards the house. And presently
THE END
309
he leaves the garden and goes to stand outside the
nearest door. It is the back door, and across the
yard the swallows are circling. They are getting
ready to fly away from cold winds and keen frost
to the land where it is always summer. They are
the same swallows that the children built the little
clay nests for.
Now the housedoor opens. Bobbie’s voice
calls : —
“ Come in, Daddy, come in ! ”
He goes in and the door is shut. I think we
will not open the door or follow him. I think
that just now we are not wanted there. I think
it will be best for us to go quickly and quietly
away. At the end of the field, among the thin gold
spikes of grass and the harebells and Gipsy roses
and St. John’s Wort, we may just take one last
look, over our shoulders, at the white house where
neither we nor any one else is wanted now.
THE
}
RAILWAY CHILDREN
V ;•
BY
E. NESBIT
AUTHOR OF “THE PHCENIX AND THE CARPET,” ETC.
Nefo gorfe
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1905
All rights reserved
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